A Bit of Sky
by ShayaLonnie
Summary: An emergency usage of magic from the future brings a shocking truth to the First Wizarding War. Three displaced soldiers wind up in 1981 and only have a few months to end Voldemort, Death Eaters, and a pack of vicious werewolves before The Prophecy is set in motion. *Indefinite Hiatus—Not Abandoned*
1. Chapter 1

**Warning** : Rated M for explicit language, violence, mentions of non-con elements, and sexual content. This story is Canon Divergent and contains both het and slash pairings. For further disclaimers and warnings, make sure to read my profile. To read the unedited, rated MA/E version, please check out this story on Archive of Our Own under the same name: ShayaLonnie. [Updated Jan 2017]

 **Beta Love** : Beta Love: LadyParongsny, bookworm4life0812, Worthfull1, GaeilgeRua, BirdieMing, sirxusly

* * *

 **A Bit of Sky**

Chapter One

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 **July 18th, 1981  
** **Forest of Dean**

"Could have been worse, I s'pose."

Remus exhaled shakily as he watched the woman—still aching from the previous night's full moon—run her fingers through the child's hair as he whimpered. "You made it through. You both did. Just don't leave his side, Katya. The first moon is the worst, especially for children."

The sun was bright above them, painful for those who would much rather be hidden away in the dark until the worst of the pain subsided, but Greyback refused to live anywhere other than out in the open. Sometimes the pack would luck into a mountain or cliffside, complete with proper caves, but all too often they slept under the stars in forests or country fields.

"Throat hurts," the boy said, whimpering.

Remus understood. The boy had screamed his throat raw during the transformation. "I'll get you some water."

His own lingering pain distracted Remus as he stood to make his way to the river that cut through the forest, but he knew he had to remain alert. The distraction and lack of focus was the price he paid when it came to fighting his "true nature" as Greyback called it. Remus could not doubt the possibility considering the look of the other werewolves around him. Those who embraced the curse as a gift recovered easier, back on their feet and ready to hunt again. Others, like Remus, fought to stand still as they repressed the lingering bloodlust that overcame them the night before.

Packs. They made everything stronger.

And worse.

Being around his "own kind" made him feel more animal than wizard—more monster than man. It was only the thought of his friends and family back home that kept him from giving into his primal urges. Greyback had offered him anything he wanted: food, money, women, and above all else, a high-ranking place in the pack. Unlike others who had been turned by rogue werewolves, or men lower down the ranks, Remus was special because he belonged to Greyback, and the wolves that _Greyback_ had turned personally were considered better than the others.

Had he not felt sickened by his own curse, Remus might have thought it funny considering that the majority of wizards thought he was beneath them for being a half-blood, and that was even before they knew that he was a monster. No, Remus's Muggle mother made him unfit to share in the same world as many of the purebloods that he had gone to school with. Even though only his friends and Snape knew about his condition, he was taunted with "blood traitor" and "half-blood filth" as he roamed the halls. Most of his friends told him to brush off the insults, but Lily understood. She, of course, dealt with worse.

The thought of Lily, James, and little Harry made him smile. He had not seen them in so long and likely would not for some time. He felt guilty that he knew he was going to miss Harry's first birthday in just a couple of weeks. But Greyback had plans on sacking a small village, and since the majority of the pack did not have wands—and most would not know how to use them if they had one—Apparation was out of the question as far as travelling, and they would have to make the trek by foot.

"Looking forward to the trip, Rollo?" Remus asked one of the others as he kneeled down to fill a small pitcher with water from the river. "Didn't you say that Susi has family near Woolhope?"

The man nodded his head once as he stood, running wet hands through his hair. "Yes. Hoping to get a chance to have a visit. Greyback agreed that we could make a stop so long as Susi's parents provided the pack with supplies. Her dad's a farmer."

"Cattle?"

Rollo snorted. "Sheep."

They both shared a quiet laugh, hiding the chuckle beneath clearing of their throats. It was hard to have a good laugh unless you had a dark sense of humour and found the torture of innocents amusing. Unfortunately, Greyback and many of the others _did_.

"You want to come along? Susi's mum makes a grand kidney pie."

Remus's stomach growled in response. Unlike many of the others, he had not eaten the night before, choosing instead to lock himself up behind wards anchored to several trees. Those who _did_ have wands often offered to set up something similar for others who did not want to chance hurting or infecting another person. Most of the adults that made such a choice were respected to a certain extent, but Greyback refused any of the children to be "leashed." Few survived to adulthood, often getting in the way of older wolves and their prey and injured to a point that they could not recover from in the morning. Not even lycanthropy could heal some wounds, especially if inflicted by another wolf.

Perhaps that was why Greyback still favoured him so. Remus had been bitten when he was only four. He had survived almost twenty years with the curse and, somehow, had not infected a single person. There had only ever been one close call, and that had not been his fault. Thinking about that night put Sirius at the forefront of his mind, and Remus sighed, his mind heavy with concerns for the friend he had not spoken to in such a long time. Too long, considering they were at war.

"While I'd love some home cooked food," Remus said with a stiff smile, "I have to decline. Greyback wants me at the front."

Rollo sighed and gently patted Remus on the shoulder, following him to Katya and her adopted cub. "Don't know why he bothers. We all know that you'll never be the heir he wants to train you into. He'd be better off pushing his efforts on Seff. Bloody menace wants it bad enough. Heard him bragging about killing four last night. One must've been a Muggle. He took a bullet in the shoulder. Tasha was fixing him up at dawn, trying to claw the damned thing out of his skin since he'd already healed over."

"Is that what the fuss was about? I heard yelling."

"Nah," Rollo said, shaking his head. "Susi said that Kurt was killed during the hunt. Apparently, the fucking idiot got a bite in before someone lobbed his head off. Kurt's mate wanted the bitten to be killed for what she'd done, but you know Greyback."

Remus's brow furrowed. "She? A _woman_ killed Kurt? Did they say if it was a witch or a Muggle?" he asked, ever thinking and worried that members of the Order had been sent to look in on him only to run across another werewolf instead.

"Witch," Rollo said.

"Is that where Greyback is?" Remus asked, wincing when a sudden scream rent the air.

"What's that?" The boy jolted up, crying out when one of his newly healed cuts split open again. Katya soothed the boy, dabbing the wound with a cloth. "Who's screaming?"

Remus and Rollo shared a look before the latter sighed and kneeled down in front of the boy. Katya's eyes widened when she realised what Rollo was about to say. "He's just a child," she said, hugging the boy closer.

"He's had his first moon," Rollo gently argued, turning his attention to the lad. "Silas, right?" The boy nodded. "Do you remember much of what happened last night? Do you remember being the wolf?" When the boy very slowly nodded his head, Rollo smiled sadly at him. "Well, you stayed in the campsite with a lot of the younger wolves, but some like to go hunting."

"Like for deer? My dad said he would take me hunting when I got older."

Remus frowned and looked away. Silas was newly bitten, taken from a village that the pack had passed through two weeks earlier. The boy had been the only survivor.

"Yeah, deer and . . . other things," Rollo said. "People. Humans that aren't like us. Greyback, the man that you're not to look in the eyes or speak to without being spoken to first, likes to have . . . entertainment the morning following the full moon. If humans that are hunted during the night survive until morning without being bitten, they're—" He stopped, hesitating when another scream echoed in the clearing from across the campsite.

"They die?" Silas asked.

Rollo nodded. "You don't have to go. Greyback likes the children to watch, but it's not law. You can stay with your . . ." He looked up and smiled at Katya. "You can stay right where you are. I'll have my mate bring 'round some of that famous tea of hers. Helps to soothe the throat." He gently squeezed the boy's arm before standing up.

Remus handed over the pitcher of water to Katya's outstretched hand, giving Silas one last reassuring smile before retreating with Rollo. "Were there any new children?" he asked quietly, sighing in relief when Rollo shook his head.

The morning after a full moon was often a busy one. Those who had managed to kill something were given a werewolf-style triumph the likes of which reminded him of books he had once read about celebrated war heroes in ancient Rome. If a werewolf managed to infect someone, the newly bitten were taken and tended by Tasha and then put on a parade in front of everyone else. Children were automatically given out to females of the pack to raise. Men were given a mentor of sorts, and women were offered up to either their maker or another high ranking wolf as a mate. Remus had been offered six females this year alone, declining all of them because the thought of taking a woman against her will was base even for monsters like him.

Sometimes, humans were captured without being infected, usually by wolves who embraced the curse and therefore had a better control of it day to day. They would bring their catch back to the pack and the humans were slaughtered in front of the others. Though it was not compulsory to attend for the children, Greyback encouraged it—considered it educational. It was his job to desensitise the young ones to bloodshed early on. He said that had been his failure with Remus. He had been left to be raised by his parents—raised human.

The adults, however, would be noticed if missing, which was why Remus had left Katya to finish tending to Silas, joining Rollo as they made their way to the clearing where the other wolves had gathered around in a circle to slaughter the previous night's catch.

A man in the centre of the circle let out a blood-curdling scream as Seff bit into the back of his neck, knocking him to the ground. Still sensitive from the full moon, everyone heard the echoing snap of a spine as Seff bit down harder. The man, a Muggle from the smell of him, widened his eyes in horror as his limbs gave out on him, his body colliding harshly with the ground. Seff stood up, wiping the blood from his mouth with a laugh. Some cheered. Others stared on in horror, unable to do a thing as they heard the Muggle struggling to breathe, left for dead.

One of the children nearby began to cry. Before Seff could take action, Remus clamped a hand over the girl's mouth and knelt down behind her. "Don't cry, Willa. I know it's hard. I won't tell you it gets better, because it doesn't. But maybe, if you're strong and you live long, you'll grow into someone who can help these people one day."

Rollo sighed. "Don't give the girl false hope. We know what werewolves are good for."

Remus sent his friend a glare. He had said the words more to himself than to the little girl, and he would not have his hopes dashed. His whole reason for being with the pack was for the hope that one day the killing could end. Spying for the Order had never been his choice, of course, but Remus knew that Dumbledore would not have asked him to go if he could not be useful in the war against Voldemort. Death Eaters were murdering Muggles and wizard alike, and there was no way of tracking them thus far.

Werewolves, however, could be followed. Unfortunately, the pack was impossible to infiltrate unless you were a werewolf yourself. Dumbledore had heard rumours that Voldemort was looking to extend a hand of friendship to Greyback, which was exactly why Remus had been forced to endure living with the pack for as long as he had. It was why he could do nothing to stop the bloodshed at the hands of his fellow wolves. Lose the battle, win the war. It made him sick, but he had yet to get close enough to his maker without being forced to commit heinous acts himself. It was one line Remus refused to cross. He would not kill an innocent person in the name of the Greater Good.

Greyback, on the other hand . . . Remus imagined _his_ death many times.

Another scream split the quiet tension in the circle. This time, instead of a Muggle being slaughtered, Remus looked up to see a witch being dragged into the centre of the circle by a chain in Greyback's hand. Fenrir looked amused for all of two seconds before she swung at him, scratching his face and drawing blood. Greyback growled, baring sharpened teeth at the young woman.

She did not even flinch.

When Greyback bore down upon her in an attempt to intimidate, he got too close and she lashed out again, sinking her teeth into the side of his neck and biting down hard. He roared, pulling away from her. Many in the circle took a step back in shock until the man started laughing.

Striking her across the face, the woman fell to the ground while Greyback touched a hand to the side of his neck, amused at the sight of blood. "Aren't you a spiteful little thing? Would you like to apologise?"

She turned and glared up at him, spitting blood on the ground. "I'm going to kill you."

Greyback and his favoured lackeys all laughed.

Even from where he stood, Remus could see the tiniest hint of gold already in the brown of the woman's eyes—a telltale sign of her recent infection. Wild, honey brown curls were suddenly fisted in Greyback's hand as he tilted her head back to expose her throat. She was young, close to his own age, if Remus were to guess. Most of the pack averted their gazes, but others gazed lecherously at her naked form. Remus, on the other, hand could not help but watch in awe of the wave of raw magic that vibrated on her bare skin. He shivered at the sight.

"We've got a wild one, boys!" Greyback pulled the woman to her feet. "Thought it mighty funny to separate Kurt's head from his shoulders last night. Mmm." He ran his nose against her cheek, ignoring when she yanked her head away in disgust. "I love a passionate wolf unafraid of slaughter. Unfortunately for you, girly, my current mate doesn't take too kindly to sharing me. That, and I've a bit more sense than to put my cock anywhere near your teeth."

Fenrir moved around the circle, dragging her with him by her hair in one hand, and the chain around her neck in the other. Most of the women turned the children around as the woman was brought nearby, shielding their eyes. Remus thought it was a bit ridiculous that they would allow the young ones to watch a slaughter, but the naked form of a newly bitten human was too much.

"Fighter," Rollo commented. "You think she's involved in that human war? The one with that bloke that Greyback's been going on about?"

Remus narrowed his eyes, looking over the woman's body. Unlike some of the other men who were leering at her exposed breasts and other areas, Remus took notice of the purple scar across her rib cage, and another on her forearm—a word that he could not make out. "She's been cursed," he muttered quietly.

"Come on up, boys!" Greyback ordered.

Remus looked down, tired and sickened.

Rollow patted him on the back. "Go on, mate."

Joining Greyback's other progeny, Remus stood in line with two other men between him and Seff with five more on either side. He kept his gaze forward, mechanically, not wanting to deal with this monstrous display of tradition. He did, however, pay attention, making mental notes of who said and did what. He would not be allowed to act against his own kind _now_ , not with a war hanging in the balance, but whenever he managed to send word back to Dumbledore, Remus included every crime he had witnessed, hoping that one day werewolves like Greyback and Seff would pay for the things they had done.

"I ain't afraid of a little fire in my women," Seff said, licking blood from off his bottom lip from his earlier kill. "If she likes to bite so much, maybe I'll just knock all her teeth out, aye?"

Greyback laughed. "You've already got a woman, haven't you?"

Seff scoffed. "She won't survive another two moons," he said, disgusted. "Weak, she is. I'd rather have one that can handle pain."

"You know the rules, lad," Greyback said with a smirk as he pulled the woman along with him, walking back and forth in from of the men. "Any other takers? Dane? Anthony?"

"I prefer blondes, myself," Dane replied. "What's yer name, pretty one?"

When she did not reply, Greyback yanked on the chain, causing her to yelp in pain. "Her-Hermione!"

"Pretty name fer a pretty—Ah!" Dane screamed when the girl broke free of Greyback's grip, sending the heel of her foot into his groin and forcing the man to his knees. The others laughed at his expense, and Dane cursed in between dry heaving.

While the others were busy laughing at Dane and salivating at the sight of the woman, Remus did his duty and simply looked up, pretending to at least show a slight interest to avoid Greyback forcing the issue. When he did, his mouth fell open. Her gaze was right on him. Gone was the hatred, the fire, the utter contempt. Her lips parted, eyes wide in obvious recognition, and he swore that he saw her mouth his name.

 _Remus_.

Shocked, as he was certain that he did not know her, Remus's heart began to beat in earnest. Was she someone from the Order? Had she been sent there to pull him out on Dumbledore's orders? Was there news from James and Lily? From Peter? From Sirius? Had this poor witch—no . . . this _fighter_ —been on her way to help him only to get caught up in werewolf politics?

"Well, well, well," Greyback muttered in amusement. "Have we finally found a girl to get your attention, Lupin? Take a look at this. Boy, I'd been worried that you didn't even _want_ to mate. It's your right, you know." Still holding onto the end of her chain, Greyback released the woman's hair, throwing her forward and into Remus's arms.

She stumbled, catching herself with her palms against his bare chest. Remus braced her, hands on her arms. She flinched in pain and he pulled back, realising that he had touched the bite wound left behind by Kurt. He looked down, eyes finally connecting with the scar on her forearm. _Mudblood_. Shaking at the thought of Lily back home, alive or dead, he did not know, Remus returned his gaze to the woman's face. "Are you all right?"

She let out a small, sad laugh, tears welling in her eyes. "We have to get out of here," she whispered.

"I think she likes you," Greyback teased and the wolves around him burst into laughter, all but Anthony, who was growling enviously. "Yes or no, Lupin. Will you finally take a mate?"

"I . . . No . . . I . . ."

The woman's fingernails lightly dug into his chest as though she were trying to find purchase there to prevent from being pulled away from him. "Do it," she said quietly. "Take me. Take me, and we'll leave."

Remus shook his head. "You don't understand. You're injured, and you—"

"I know more than you think . . . _Moony_."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I have zero self control. This immediate follow up chapter is courtesy of **lavonnallama** , who egged me on.

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 **Chapter Two**

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 **July 18th, 1981  
** **Forest of Dean**

Hermione knew it was a risk to reveal his nickname, but she did not have time to barter with Remus over the desperate need to get away from the other werewolves—all of whom were thankfully too busy laughing or growling to pay any attention to her whispers, likely brushing them off as pleas for freedom. She had been resigned to death, even after everything she had already been through, once Greyback had locked the chain around her neck. She knew what Greyback did to women, and she would let herself die rather than suffer the beast to be inside of her.

At least . . . that was what he was known to do in _her_ time.

Seeing Remus there amongst the wolf pack was a light in the dark. Not only did she realise that she could figure out a way to be freed of Greyback, but it helped to pinpoint the year in which she had been dropped. Remus was undercover, which meant that they were in the middle of the first war, likely either 1980 or 1981. She hoped she still had time. The weather indicated that it could either be spring or summer, depending on their location. That boded well as long as she and Remus could escape.

The way that the other men were leering at her, however, said that they might need to fight. She had originally thought she was to be executed for killing the werewolf that had bitten her. It was just her luck that the Time-Turner had thrown her into the past, on a full moon, in the middle of a forest where werewolves were hunting. Thankfully, she'd had her wand on hand and was able to fight back. Unfortunately, she was only able to take down the one wolf that attacked her before another snatched her wand from her hand, snapping it in its jaws. What little wandless magic she knew, she used to set up wards to keep from being mauled to death. The wards had only lasted until dawn, and by then she had lost too much blood and could not keep Greyback and his henchmen away.

Stripped of her clothes, she was dragged through the forest, clutching at the chain around her neck and screaming the entire way. If they were going to take her, she was going to go down fighting. Hermione Granger would not be killed quietly.

Now, however, she might not need to die at all. While she had never once thought of Remus Lupin as anything but a professor—and then later a friend and respected fellow soldier in the Order—she felt a comfort in touching his bare skin. _Safe_. She knew she was safe in his arms, even while the other werewolves around him stared at her like they wanted to fight or fuck just to see how she would react.

Remus stared at her in shock. She held his gaze, her eyes pleading with him silently to say yes to afford them a moment before she was handed over to another man instead of him. She would do her damnedest to fight her way out of the pack, but it would be much easier with his help.

"If . . ." Remus hesitantly began, turning away from her to look at Greyback. "If I say yes, can I take her to the river to bathe? I . . ." He swallowed hard, his mouth having gone dry. "She smells like the others, Kurt especially. It's off-putting."

Greyback chuckled darkly. "Keep in sight. If you think about running off with her without properly mating her, I'll have her dragged back to the pack, and she'll be shared by everyone before being torn apart. Is that understood?"

Hermione could not stop herself from shuddering.

With a look of approval from Greyback, her chain was passed into Remus's hand, and he led her out of the circle, an arm draped protectively around her shoulders. When two men refused to part to let them through, Remus snarled, a sound that Hermione had certainly never heard from his older counterpart. Properly reprimanded, the two men jumped to the side, and several people behind them applauded, laughing.

Silence followed them all the way down to the river, and Hermione fell to her knees, cupping the water in her hands and drinking deeply. She finally let herself sob when she began washing her body, scrubbing her hands over every place that Greyback had touched her. Hissing when the water came into contact with her bite wound, she stopped her actions as the weight of her circumstances settled on her. "I'm a werewolf."

"I'm so sorry," Remus whispered, genuinely grieving for her.

She pivoted in the water, suddenly very aware of her nakedness now that she was clean. Crossing her arms over her chest, Hermione shivered in the cold water. She looked up at him, surprised when he brandished a wand and cast a Warming Charm over her body. "Greyback allows you a wand?"

Remus sighed, looking down ashamedly. "I'm . . . _special_ ," he said, his tone filled with disgust. "Who are you?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Did . . . Were you sent here for _me_? Did James or—"

"James Potter," Hermione said with a small smile as the weight of the timeline truly settled in her mind. "He's alive."

Remus's featured softened, and he beamed at her. "He _is_? You're certain? I haven't heard word in—"

"I . . ." She paused after interrupting him, surprised that she had uttered her revelation aloud. "This is going to sound absolutely mad, but . . . what year is it?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Year? Month too, if you please." She stood up, still feeling a touch awkward to stand in front of him naked. She had lived in a tent with Harry and Ron for months prior to the battle at Hogwarts, and all three had long since lost all sense of shame when it came to the naked form. The years that followed Hogwarts's destruction only cemented the need for convenience over propriety. Then again, Remus had not been with them, had he?

Thankfully, he kept his gaze on her face. The dumbstruck expression he wore said that he was focused on her words rather than her breasts, which was fine by her considering this was hardly the time to be thinking inappropriate thoughts. Especially since, to her, Remus Lupin had been dead for over a year now. The sudden reminder knocked the breath out of her, and Hermione clutched at her chest, her mind drifting to everyone that they had lost in the war.

When she gained control of her emotions once more, she returned her attention to the man still gaping at her as though she were mental. In an attempt to get him to focus, she snapped her fingers as she spoke. "Remus. Year. Month. Please."

"July of 1981. Do you mean to imply that you—"

"Time travelled," Hermione said. "Quite right." When he snorted in disbelief, she raised a challenging eyebrow at him, not amused. "July of 1981. Harry's birthday is coming up, isn't it? And I suppose this means that you've been spying for the Order for over a year, maybe more? And where is Padfoot? Surely, not in the Shrieking Shack; not anymore. Not without you and Prongs. I can call them Padfoot and Prongs, can't I? I know I'm not an Animagus or a Marauder, but I wonder if I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, if you'll . . ." She trailed off, smiling at the pale look of shock that had come over him. "Let me guess? Even in dire situations, your friends wouldn't give up _that_ many secrets? Don't faint on me, Remus. I'm here to help. Actually, I'm here because of an accident, but I want to help regardless."

Shaking his head, Remus began to pace. "This is . . . This is . . . I can't . . ."

"You look nice, by the way. Young, I mean," Hermione said with a friendly smile. "Of course, I always did like you with grey hair. I always thought it was distinguished."

His eyes widened further, and he made a strange, squawking noise. "G-Grey? B-But I . . . You . . . Where, er, _when_ have you come from?"

Hermione sighed, glad that he was over his crisis. "August 2000. My friends and I, those of the Order that survived the war up to that point, were trying to end it. _Again_. Trying to end Voldemort. I'd found a ritual that was meant to summon him. We placed ourselves in three separate locations, places where important moments of the war had taken place and Voldemort suffered a temporary defeat. It would have worked with more people, but . . . there's not many of us left," she said with a frown. "The ritual needed to be timed correctly, and if successful, it would have summoned him simultaneously to all three locations."

Remus blinked rapidly, his mouth falling open. "That would essentially splinch him three ways."

She smiled sadly, tears pricking at her eyes. "That was the hope. We tried fighting honourably and fair. People die when you play fair. Unfortunately, before the ritual could be completed, my Time-Turner pulled me away. It wasn't with me when I arrived here, which means that one of my friends has done something irreversible. The Time-Turner I had was connected to two others. It was a way that my friends and I could stay together, even if we altered events. When one of us used a Time-Turner to travel, it would pull the others back to the specific date and hour as well. We'd only been able to go back six months until recently.

"After Hogwarts fell and Death Eaters overwhelmed our numbers, we retreated. We had no choice. We infiltrated the Ministry to steal records of Muggle-borns, as well as anything they might use against us. I went to the Department of Mysteries, which was how we found the devices. Along with them were instructions for how to travel back _years_. We'd talked about doing it, but realised that it would have to be a worst case scenario, as the notes we found in the Unspeakable's desk where we discovered the Time-Turners said that the devices had not survived trips longer than ten years. They vanish into thin air, leaving the people they take trapped with them. I have no idea how they were able to record such information and still work on them, but I don't try to waste my time trying to think like an Unspeakable."

Remus held out his hand when she stepped out of the river, helping to balance her so that she did not slip on any of the rocks. "Thank you," she said with a soft smile. "Sorry. I can't imagine what your mind must be going through right now. It's a bit of an information overload."

He nodded, running a hand through his hair nervously. "Right. So, does this mean your friends have come with you? Other Order members from your time? Where are they?"

"I imagine wherever they were in 2000," she replied. "This is the Forest of Dean? Correct? Or near enough?" When he nodded again, she sighed in relief. "Well, at least there's that. I don't know what caused either of them to turn back as far as they did. This was the plan, of course. In the hopes of stopping the war before it got extremely bad."

"The war doesn't end? In . . . In 2000? My God. Twenty years." Remus scrubbed his hands down his face. "What are we even fighting for?"

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "We're fighting for our lives, Remus. We're fighting because our world deserves a chance. I've been fighting for hope, and a bit of vengeance, I'll admit. But now, I'm going to fight like hell to stop people from dying. We need to get out of here. Can you Disapparate with both of us?"

Frowning, Remus shook his head. "Whenever the pack stops to make camp, Greyback puts up Anti-Disapparation Wards. Only a few of us are allowed a wand, and I wouldn't be able to take them down on my own."

She frowned. "Where do the wards end? Could we make a run for it?"

"Miles," Remus said sadly. "I . . . I don't even know where the points are. I'm special but not trusted. Especially now with a woman. We'd be spotted before we made it very far. Greyback wasn't bluffing when he said that . . . You would be in danger. It's why he tried to, well, hand you off as quickly as possible. Once you're connected to the pack, it would be pointless to escape. Even if I gave you my wand, and you made it past the barriers, you wouldn't survive."

Hermione snorted. "I have _years_ of healing expertise, Remus. I know how to treat a bite wound and—"

"No," he said, interrupting her, "you don't understand. What do you know of werewolves?"

Challenged, Hermione lifted her chin. "More than most, less than the average werewolf, I suppose. They are quite a secretive bunch."

"We," he corrected her. " _We_ are a secretive bunch. And there's a reason. Your magic has been infected, and you need an anchor. Another wolf. The bitten are anchored to their maker, or a female wolf if the maker doesn't want to claim responsibility for them if they're too young. Females are given to other wolves to . . . breed. Claim."

Her mouth fell open in shock as the dire consequences of her actions became very obvious. "But that's . . . That's for _life_! I can't . . . Remus, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to pull you into something like this. I assumed we could escape together. Maybe . . . Can a female survive if they kill their mate? I've only read rumours about werewolf mating habits, but some say that the bond created could kill one if the other dies. Is that true?"

His brow furrowed a bit, and he stepped away from her cautiously. "No, that's just a rumour. As for killing me, I should say that—"

"What?" She looked at him, confused. " _You_? What? No! I meant, I could go back and have Greyback give me to someone else. One of those other wolves that were slobbering," she said, cringing. "If I could survive the claiming long enough to kill him, I could make a run for it when the pack moves next, right?"

"Miss . . . umm—"

"Hermione," she reminded him.

"Hermione," Remus said, awkwardly running his hand through his hair again. "The claiming. It's a rite that happens to involve . . . umm . . . biting and . . . well . . ."

"Sex."

He raised a brow at her. "With a _werewolf_ ," he clarified.

"Well," Hermione said with a heavy sigh, "it's not as though I have any right to be judgemental seeing that I'll soon be one myself. Besides, I've slept with a werewolf before. You're not scaring me." She glanced over his shoulder to see a few of the others looking on from afar. "I'm a bit disgusted. Do you think I could ask them to bathe first?"

"Are . . ." Remus began, colour tinting his cheeks. "In your . . . Where you're from . . . werewolves are . . . I mean to say, it's commonplace to be . . . You've had a relationship with one before? We're . . . normal?"

His worried but hopeful expression made her chest ache fiercely. Memories of an older Remus Lupin shaking and horrified over the idea of having impregnated Tonks. Memories of an older Remus Lupin shouting and pleading for them all to understand why it was foolish for anyone to love him because of what he was.

Hermione sighed and placed a hand on his cheek. "Not quite," she whispered. "But we could have made it better had Voldemort not taken over the Ministry. I'd planned on joining the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to fight for werewolf rights after I graduated Hogwarts, but that never happened. This time . . . Well, it will be a bit more personal, I suppose. Can they hear us?" she asked when she noticed some of the men getting a bit closer.

Remus shook his head. "Not after the full moon. Our senses get stronger before, but the days after, it's a bit like learning to use a limb again after Skele-Gro. Senses are a bit fuzzy in comparison."

"That's what I assumed," she said, relieved. "Are there any wolves that would take me that wouldn't hurt me so badly?" she asked, the weight of her situation pressing down on her. She would have to have sex with one of them, hope that she was not injured in the process, and somehow kill him before she could escape. Obtaining clothes between now and then was also on her list of things to do.

"I've already told Greyback that—"

"I can't do that to you, Remus," Hermione said, looking up at him sadly. "It's your whole life. You wouldn't be available to any other woman if—" He laughed, a self-deprecating chuckle that was far too bitter for her tastes. "You can find love. I've seen it. Granted, I don't know what changing the war will do, but I can't take that option away from you. Besides, you don't know me. It's not fair to you."

"My job in this pack is to get information to help defeat Voldemort. I agreed knowing that I might not survive it. I've been here for too long, watching too many people get hurt. With what you know about the future, you could stop this war. Right?" At her nod, he smiled. "Then I can't let you get hurt by the others. Some of them . . . They weren't good men when they were _men_ , Hermione."

Frowning, Hermione thought very carefully about her options, her need for survival, and her need to find her friends. Remus was right, the war was more important. She briefly thought of Tonks and Teddy. Images of the beautiful Metamorphmagus lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall came to mind, and Hermione felt ill. Would it be better to not live through a war and lose a future love? And Teddy . . . He and Andromeda had been some of the first to be rounded up once the Ministry fell. Harry had experienced nightmares for months after finding out what had happened to them. Was it better to not exist than to die so young?

"I don't know, Remus," she whispered.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. Their eyes met, and Hermione's mouth fell open as a small bit of magic shifted inside of her, pulling heat from her limbs down to the bite wound, radiating warmth there with a strangely comforting pulse. "What's that?" she asked softly, breaking her gaze from his to look at the mark.

Remus swallowed. "I . . ."

"Is she clean enough yet, Lupin!?"

They both jumped, surprised by the shout. Instinctively, Hermione curled against Remus's side to shield her body from the onlooker. Remus growled defensively, and she could feel the vibrations in his chest. Clearing her throat, she tried to adjust her posture, startled by the fact that she had no desire to pull away from him. "You should know," she whispered. "You had a family in the future."

He looked down at her, shocked. "I did? I . . . What happened to them?"

Lowering her gaze, she pressed her forehead against his chest and shook her head.

Remus let out a shaky exhale before clearing his throat. "We're almost ready," he shouted back to the other wolf. "Tell Greyback to have the little ones cleared off."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I just saw you and . . . I've missed you, Remus. I know you're not the same man I knew, but . . . I knew you could be trusted. You were a dear friend."

His heart beat hard against her skin as he pulled her tightly against him, hugging her close. She could feel him breathing deep against her hair. The warmth from her bite wound spread up her arm and across her chest. Her skin itched in a way that made her crave to scratch, but she had no idea how or where. "This being a werewolf thing feels . . . disconcerting."

"I'll take care of you. We'll get through this, and then . . . we'll get out of here once the pack starts moving. Greyback doesn't like to stay put for very long, and once the . . . claiming is done, he'll think I've finally come around. It wouldn't be unnatural for you to struggle in the adjustment, so it's a good excuse to lag behind the others. We'll go back to the Order, and tell them everything. We'll find your friends. Would I . . . You mentioned Padfoot and Prongs. Your friends . . . Are they—?"

Hermione smiled and looked up at him. "My best friend is Harry Potter."

Remus laughed, a bright smile crossing his face. "I'm going to meet a grown up Harry? Brilliant. James and Lily might faint, but I think that's amazing."

She laughed and then cleared her throat. "The umm . . . claiming. It's . . . I mean, I didn't see any tents or . . ." At the look on his face, Hermione's eyes widened. "It's in front of everyone, isn't it?"

Cringing, Remus slowly nodded.

Sucking in a breath to steel her nerves and summon her courage, Hermione squared her shoulders. "Right. Well. That's . . . awkward," she said, deciding immediately that she would not inform Remus that he had, at one point, been her professor. "Harry walked in on me once, and no one was pleased about it." Letting out a slightly nervous laugh, she asked, "And I imagine that foreplay is out of the question?"

Remus blushed. "Er . . . Yeah."

Nodding her head quickly, Hermione closed her eyes to drown out the noises coming from beyond the trees, where more men had gathered to gawk at and taunt them. "I can do this. I can do this. Just . . . Remus, will you kiss me?"

He frowned and cupped her cheek in one large hand. "I'm so sorry that this happened to you, Hermione. You're . . . You seem like a good person, and I would not wish this life, this curse, on anyone."

Letting out a soft sigh, she leant into his touch. "Well, I imagine I won't be alone, now will I?"

"I'll keep you safe," he whispered before brushing his lips against hers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

 **July 18th, 1981  
** **Forest of Dean**

Hermione had been prepared for the roughness that would come with being kissed by a werewolf. Remus was not the first werewolf she had snogged, nor would he be the first one that slept with her. Six months after escaping the ruins of Hogwarts, the small group of what was left of Dumbledore's Army and the Order had taken refuge out of country to recover and regroup. They found sanctuary in Bulgaria of all places. Unwilling to join behind what the locals considered a cheap imitation of Grindelwald, the Bulgarians had created a resistance to Voldemort's movement. While Death Eaters sacked the Wizarding villages of Britain and Scotland, the werewolves had been sent to Bulgaria with a message from the Dark Lord.

Many had been infected—Viktor Krum amongst them.

While the remaining Weasleys grieved their losses, and Harry spent most of his days training for a fight that just did not seem likely to ever end, Hermione spent her nights wrapped up in the arms of her first love, whose new affliction brought out an aggressive side that she found oddly titillating.

Viktor had been passionate and a little rough, but Hermione had not minded.

Remus, however, set her blood on fire.

The softest kiss to her lips turned ravenous in moments. The second their tongues met, Remus growled in the back of his throat. As though a primal part of her was suddenly woken, Hermione instinctively hiked her leg up against his hip, allowing Remus to grip her thigh. He pushed her until her back was flat against the trunk of a tree, using the leverage to lift her until her legs were wrapped around his waist. The kiss turned frantic, and Hermione shivered in needy anticipation when Remus pulled away to run his teeth along her jaw and down her neck.

She could feel his breath, hot against her shoulder. Drunk on the heat of skin on skin, she whimpered when she felt his hand push between their body and a shifting of his trousers. Her pulse raced, the echo of a distant howl in the back of her mind, and she could actually feel the magic in her veins pause, adjust, and open as though preparing for a welcome invasion.

The heat of Remus's body was yanked away just as quickly as it had come upon her. Hermione fell to the ground, bereft, looking up as her werewolf—hers?—was pulled away from her by another man. Without thinking, she snarled up at the man, who blinked down at her in amusement, a friendly grin on his face.

"Rollo, get off!" Remus growled, fighting against his friend.

"Eager all of a sudden?" Rollo chuckled. "Well, that certainly is a difference. Looks like you might've actually found a proper mate."

Eyes wide, Remus slumped against Rollo's hold. "M-Mate?"

Hermione stood, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her body to cover most of her nudity. "Isn't that the point? He's to mate me?" When Remus stared at her, eyes full of longing and disbelief, her lips parted. "Oh. I . . . Oh."

 _Real_ mates.

Not just two wolves come together. Not just a wizard and a witch who had made a choice to be together. But true and proper wolf mates. She felt her magic stir at the thought, a welcome and comforting feeling washing over her. Of course, she could not help but wonder if the same would have been said of the Remus Lupin she had known in her past. "Why didn't he know me on sight?"

"Lots of different myths and theories," Rollo replied, finally releasing Remus and watching in amusement as he rushed to Hermione, pulling her into his arms. "I heard a tale about ten years back. Some Russian wolf that said wolf mates are where Muggles got their silly story idea about true love's kiss. You likely would have never known had he not kissed you, little beast."

"I'm not sure I like your friend," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes from around Remus at Rollo.

Remus, however, was silent as he held her, breathing heavy against the top of her head. She adjusted her position in his arms to look up at his face. His eyes were focused ahead, a scared determination in his gaze, his mouth in a tight line. She could feel the fear and anger rolling off of him, but there was also a protectiveness and possessiveness in the warmth of his magic as it surrounded her—as it _reached out_ to hers.

"What do we do?"

"We leave," Remus said, reaching down and taking her hand.

Rollo's eyes widened. "You what? Are you mad?" he snapped in a hushed tone. "Remus, I know you want to get her out of here, but you'll never make it past the wards. And what do you think Greyback and Seff will do if you're caught? Worse yet, what they'll do to her if you're caught before you claim her?"

Remus snarled, his eyes flashing pure gold. Hermione caught the colour shift and felt slightly embarrassed over the way her belly tightened at the sight and how the apex of her thighs pulsed over the sound he made. A chill ran up the back of Hermione's neck, and she looked over Rollo's shoulder to see the other wolves impatiently peeking down at them. "Remus," she whispered. "Remus, let's get this over with."

Swallowing hard, Remus glanced at the gathered men and growled low. "If I'm challenged by one of them—"

"You kill them," Rollo said, cutting him off. "Plain and simple. It's expected, and anyone who wants to challenge you for your mate is not someone who's doing it out of the kindness of their hearts. They won't deserve to live."

Looking back at Hermione, she gave a reluctant nod of her head. "I won't judge you for it," she said. "I've taken lives. We're at war." She left out the diatribe over how who were any of them to challenge Remus as though he owned her, and that she could fight for herself, thank you very much. But the look in his eyes matched how she felt inside at the thought of anyone else getting between her and Remus. Just the fact that she knew his older self had been murdered was making her worked up with a desire to find and kill Antonin Dolohov, the man responsible.

The three walked back to the camp in silence, attention on anyone who stepped too close. The children, as Remus requested, had been led away, and the rest of the pack had formed a large circle with Greyback in the centre, looking far too pleased with himself. "Well, doesn't she clean up nice?" he said with a laugh.

"Prefer 'em a bit dirty, myself," Seff said, grinning.

Hermione noted that the bite wound she had left on Greyback was already partially healed. She wondered if someone had tended to it, or if it was just a part of the werewolf healing factor. It was unfortunate that she had not already been turned when she'd bitten him; it would have been pleasant to have been able to leave a permanent reminder not to cross her.

"Now, before Lupin here finally becomes a right grown up wolf," Greyback said to the laughter of the other men around them, "are there any challengers?"

Remus's eyes widened. "You never invite challengers!"

"True," Greyback said with a shrug, "but you've never shown interest before, now have you? Thought I'd make this a little more interesting to see just how determined you are to keep the little biter. Or maybe you were just taking pity? One night and off she goes? Lupin keeps his honour, saves the damsel and gets a shag as a thank you? It's time you grew up, boy." Greyback's grin had faded, a look of irritation replacing amusement.

Hermione took a step closer to Remus, sighing when she felt his hand rest on the back of her neck. She leant into his touch, trying to silently communicate her acceptance and permission. Thankfully, he seemed to understand. His hand tightened in the back of her hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to direct her in a dominant fashion.

Positioning her in front of him, one hand stayed fisted in her hair even as the other swooped down around her body, settling across her waist just below her breasts. Remus bared his teeth to the rest of the pack and snarled loudly, "Mine!"

One by one, each wolf stepped one foot back from the circle. Seff remained where he was, glaring at Remus, until Greyback hit him in the shoulder, forcing him back. Remus turned, moving Hermione with him as they followed the circle that expanded outward a foot from every angle—except one.

Dane narrowed blue eyes in Remus's direction, though his gaze was actually on Hermione, hateful and full of vengeance for her attack on him earlier. Remus tensed behind Hermione. The threat triggered something in her and she growled in the back of her throat, angling her head downward as she met Dane's stare head on.

Remus let her go and in a split second, he was in front of her instead of behind. Faster than she had ever anticipated, Dane had launched himself forward, eager to grab at her, but Remus was there, blocking his path. Fists flew violently, and Hermione gasped when she heard the wet smack of fist on blood-splattered skin. When they spun around, Remus was bleeding from his left eye, but Dane, despite being larger, had a gash right down the centre of his lip and was struggling to get out of the grip that Remus had around his neck.

Hermione stepped back, out of the way, her eyes set on the pocket where she had seen Remus stow his wand. If the worst were to happen, she felt that she could wandlessly summon it, though what good that would do, she was not certain. She knew a good collection of spells that would injure or incapacitate only about one-fourth of the gathered pack, and then she would need to figure out how to beat them to the edge of the wards to Disapparate. Even still, she knew in her heart she could not leave Remus behind.

Not ever.

She needn't have worried. Dane threw his weight forward in an attempt to wrestle Remus to the ground, only to end up on his own back. Remus, though smaller than the other man, was stronger, and he used that strength to his advantage, immobilising his enemy. Dane, panicked, fisted a rock nearby and then swung, hitting Remus in the head and throwing him off balance.

Instead of attempting to finish him off, though, Dane made a run at Hermione, very clearly wanting to injure her instead of properly challenging Remus's rights to mate. His mistake was in underestimating Hermione's swiftness. She dodged his outstretched hand and ducked forward when he spun around to try again. Before he had a chance to try for a third attempt, Remus was back on his feet with two hands gripped around Dane's throat.

Choking for breath, Dane struggled.

A glance given toward Greyback for permission was followed by a proud nod, and Remus sunk his teeth into the back of Dane's neck. Hermione watched, eyes wide, as Remus's fingers bit into the man's throat, followed by a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. Too large to keep upright on his own, Remus let the body sink to the ground.

Greyback began applauding, his boisterous laughed echoing in the circle. Remus was breathing heavy, staring ahead at his marker, his eyes a deep gold. He tensed briefly when Rollo approached from the side, holding out a cup of water. Letting out a sigh of relief, Remus swished the water in his mouth, rinsing out the taste of blood before spitting it on the ground. He said nothing as Rollo returned to his place in the circle.

No one said another word as Remus stalked toward Hermione, heart pounding in his chest and blood running hot. Fist back in her hair, he pulled her forward and covered her mouth with his own, groaning at the way she melted her body against him as though they were alone and not completely surrounded. She was small, and it was easy to lift her into his arms, repositioning her legs back around his waist— _where they belong_ , Remus thought to himself.

Hermione paid little attention to the sound and feel of crunching leaves against her back when Remus set her on the ground, still pressed tightly against his body. That same primal instinct from earlier took control once more, and Hermione broke away from the kiss to tilt her head to the side, exposing her neck. Remus's chest rumbled in approval, and the men in the circle around them all echoed his thoughts as they began to howl.

Remus sat back, lifting her once again into his arms. For a brief moment, his humanity showed itself in soft green eyes. "I . . . I don't want to be this," he whispered, burying his face in her curls so that the others could not see his weakness.

"I have you," she replied, threading her hands in his sandy-coloured hair. "We'll be free soon enough. Back in the world where we both belong. Do it, Remus. I'm yours."

Moving her body, Remus flipped her over until she was on her hands and knees. He shoved his trousers down his hips, freeing his straining erection. Angling her hips to line himself up, Remus ran a hand over the smooth skin of her back, admiring the softness of her before smoothly thrusting inside her warmth.

Her magic tingled as it re-opened like before, melding with his. It felt as though every bit of her that might have ever been missing a piece was suddenly filled. Cracks in her subconscious, fractures in her magic, breaks in her heart were all at once repaired, fused seamlessly with magic that felt all too familiar. She could swear that she could almost smell the library at Grimmauld Place, hear the soothing sounds of quill on parchment from inside the Defence classroom, and taste that first bit of chocolate that chased away the chilling aftermath of a dementor.

Remus groaned. He had been with witches before, and even one female werewolf a few months back when her mate had been killed by Greyback. Nothing compared to Hermione. Nothing. As much as he hated his lot in life, he fought the urge to feel grateful to Greyback for this. For making him the monster that he was, and allowing that infectious magic to show him how perfect the joining of two bodies—two people—could be. Thankfully, his hatred for his maker was strong enough to overpower the momentary gratitude. Instead, he focused on the feel of her, of his mate, Hermione.

Remus leant forward on his knees, pressing himself against her back and angling his body until the stubble of his beard was rubbing against her neck. Even if he hadn't seen a claiming done before, Remus knew what to do instinctively. Shocked by the wave of desire that rushed through him, he opened his mouth, pressing his teeth against the skin of her shoulder sank his teeth into her flesh.

She shivered in his arms as he pulled his mouth from her shoulder. For a moment he wondered if he had truly hurt her, but she leant back into his embrace, seeking him out. As the others howled around them, celebrating the ritual as though Remus was just like them, he could not help but think of a future where he could make love to her in a bed as though they were both human, and nothing more. A future without a war, without Death Eaters and Voldemort. A future unlike the ones he had long ago thought impossible, and a future unlike the one she had come from.

First, he needed to get them both as far from Greyback as possible.

Still trying to control his breathing, Remus kissed her temple and whispered, "I have you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

 **July 18th, 1981  
** **Godric's Hollow**

Harry could not stop smiling.

In fact, he could not recall being this happy in years—not since before Sirius died. He knew that he should be concerned about how and why he had somehow ended up in 1981, but Harry was _happy_ , and his smile was so big it was almost painful. Which he imagined made it all the more disconcerting for his father, who kept a level wand aimed in his direction.

He did not blame the man one bit. Harry was certain that if _he_ had opened the door one morning to find a stranger on his front step proclaiming to be his son from the future, he would have assumed it was a trick as well. James Potter, despite epic tales of mischief-making that Harry thrived on, was _not_ a man to be trifled with.

"Glare at me all you'd like," Harry said to his father, "I'm not going to stop being happy to see you."

James's hazel eyes narrowed, the wand in his hand turned in silent threat, and Harry actually laughed as his heart swelled with joy. His father was _alive_. Alive and right in front of him. Alive and narrowing his eyes and threatening him.

"Are you sure it'll work, Lils?" James called into the other room, not taking his gaze or his wand off of Harry.

There was a loud scoff of indignation followed by a very offended Lily Potter squawking, "I beg your pardon, Potter? I brewed this Veritaserum myself, I'll have you know. Just because _you_ don't know the difference between aconite and wormwood . . ."

Harry smirked as his mother's voice trailed off. Seeing her had caused something inside of him to click in place that the Mirror of Erised and the Resurrection Stone could never have done. Photographs had not done her justice. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen but quite the opposite of the perfect witch that Sirius and Remus had always described. Beautiful yes, but hardly flawless. During the short time he had a chance to get a good look at her—before he burst into tears—he noticed that her hair was a bit of a mess, and though her eyes were green, just like this, they had little flecks of brown around the edges. She was real and not some perfect angelic creature like he had been led to believe thanks to stories.

James rolled his eyes. "Same bloody thing," he muttered under his breath before shouting, "I'm not questioning your skills, Lily, but Veritaserum isn't a guarantee."

Lily entered the room carrying a small phial of Truth Serum in one hand, and a mug of something else in the other, purple smoke rolling over the rim. "I know that, James," she said, tossing the small phial into her husband's open hand.

James fumbled, the tiny glass bottle bouncing off of his palm and up into the air, arcing across the room. Harry dove on instinct, reflexes as fast as they ever were, and caught the potion before it collided with the nearby bookshelf. He smiled, tossing the phial back to his father, who looked a perfect mixture of embarrassed and annoyed. That expression faded when Harry grinned and said, "I was made Seeker for Gryffindor my first year. Youngest Seeker in a century."

"Youngest Seeker in a century?" James asked, his cross expression fading just a touch. "You hear that, Lily? My son was the youngest Seekers in a century!"

Lily lifted a delicate eyebrow. "A man shows up at our door saying he's our son, and you start throwing hexes and making threats, but he tells you that he's a Quidditch prodigy and _now_ he's telling the truth?" Before James could muster up a reply, Lily cut him off, yanking several hairs from his head.

"Ow!" James winced, setting the phial of Veritaserum down to rub at his scalp. "What was that for?"

Lily set the mug down on a nearby surface, pulling her wand from a Disillusioned spot behind her ear. When a clump of hair fell into her face, she irritably blew it out of her eyes. Cautious, she aimed the wand at Harry as she crossed the room.

Making an assumption, Harry tilted his head to the side and allowed her to yank several of his hairs out just as she had done with his father.

"I brewed a, well, I suppose it's a bit like a Paternity Potion," Lily said as she returned to the mug. "Paternity _and_ Maternity, actually. I grabbed the Veritaserum, just in case." Pulling a long red strand from her own head, she worked over the mug, carefully adding the hairs. The smoke turned magenta and then crimson before flashing blue and then settling.

"Did you make that yourself?" James asked curiously. "What for?"

"I invented it when Sirius was dating that Selwyn girl. I wouldn't have put it past her to try and get pregnant to force his hand into marriage or money," Lily said, pinching up Harry's hair between her fingers and rolling it up into a small ball, adding it to the mug. "He claims he's a dab hand at Contraceptive Charms, so if that witch got pregnant, I was going to be ready to protect Sirius."

James nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flickering back and forth between the mug and Harry. "How come you just assume that Sirius is good at the charm because he says so, but you still insist on taking your potion even though I know how to cast the charm?"

Lily snorted and looked up at him incredulously. "Because proof of your inability to properly cast a Contraceptive Charm is currently sleeping upstairs." She paused and looked across the room, flippantly gesturing to Harry. "And also might be standing right there." Returning her attention to the mug, she gasped as the colour shifted back to purple.

"What?" James asked, moving quickly to her side. "What's that mean?"

Raising her gaze to Harry, green eyes met their almost identical mirror. Lily stared at him, her mouth falling open. "He's not lying," she whispered. "He's . . . Oh, _Harry_. It's really . . ."

Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Harry's shoulders slumped forward, and tears sprung to his eyes once more. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just show up and throw your lives into more chaos. It was an accident, I swear it."

James was obviously shocked, but his wand was still held tight in hand even as Lily crossed the room again to throw her arms around Harry's neck, hugging him tightly. The wand was finally lowered when Harry buried his face in Lily's shoulder and let out a broken sob. Swallowing hard, James moved to take a step toward the pair when a loud cry from upstairs interrupted the moment.

Lily pulled back from Harry, her own eyes wet. She turned her head toward the staircase, looking confused. "Oh, I . . . I need to . . ."

"Go," Harry said, looking torn as he too glanced at the staircase where the cries of his younger self echoed down. Lily squeezed his hands, smiling, before quickly darting out of the room. Awkwardly, Harry rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve, sniffed, and then returned his gaze to James. "I know you might not still believe me, but—"

Cut off, Harry was shocked when his father crossed the room, enveloping him in a tight embrace. He held James tighter than he had with Lily. She was much smaller than he was, and Harry had been afraid of accidentally hurting her, not knowing how to control the eager child inside of him that was desperate to hug his mother for the first time in twenty years. James, however, was taller than Harry was, exuding a feel of strength and durability.

"You believe me," Harry said in relief as his father squeezed him.

Pulling back, James sniffed. He took Harry's face in his hands and let out a shaky exhale as he looked him over. "You have no idea," he said. "With this war, and . . . Merlin, I toss and turn every night worried that none of us will make it out alive. That you'll never get to grow up and . . . But _look_ at you. You're all grown. You lived."

Harry frowned as he watched James's expression of relief give way to confusion as he looked over Harry's features, taking quick notice of the scar on his forehead. Pulling back, James glanced at the rest of his son for the first time really, since Harry had knocked on the door that morning. His clothes were filthy, torn, and some parts stained with blood. In addition to the mark on his forehead, there was an ugly scar that ran the length of one forearm, and plenty more that were hidden beneath clothing. Harry folded his arms to hide the blemish, immediately regretting having left his jacket somewhere back in 2000.

"It's not over," James said. "Is it?"

Harry shook his head. "We were . . . We had a plan, but something went wrong." He explained the situation about the linked Time-Turners, sitting down on the sofa beside his father. "The spell we'd planned to cast needed to be anchored in places where he'd been defeated in some way. It was supposed to provoke his magic into a panic or . . . I don't know. Hermione explains it better," he said with a sigh. "She was in a forest where one of our other friends destroyed one of his weapons. It felt like a safe place for her to be compared to the other options. Another one of us went to Hogwarts. He won the battle there, but it was also the place where one of his right hand Death Eaters betrayed him. I came here to Godric's Hollow because that's where Voldemort was _first_ defeated. I still don't know how. He cast the Killing Curse at me, but something Mum did made it . . . bounce off me, and it hit _him_ instead."

James looked horrified as a realisation hit him. "We died," he whispered after a long moment of silence. "Bloody hell, she's been reading up on Blood Magic and protective wards that parents can . . . But it takes a life sacrifice to activate." Leaning forward, James thrust his hands into his hair and squeezed his eyes shut tight. "Fuck. How do we—? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know. I mean, I _want_ to know so that I can stop it from—"

"It's not going to happen," Harry said firmly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I'm going to kill him before he steps foot in this house."

" _We're_ going to kill him," James corrected. "Lily and Harry, er . . . _little_ Harry will be safe. Fuck, I need to send word to Sirius, Remus, and Peter. And Dumbledore! The Order needs to know about—"

"No!" Harry said, jumping to his feet, prepared to physically stop his father from doing exactly as he had said. "You can't tell Dumbledore. Not . . . yet. No one else in the Order can know about me and my friends being here from the future. Not yet. I need to find them first and make sure they're safe. I wasn't the one to bring us here. Godric's Hollow was deserted when I showed up in my time. I hadn't even reached the cottage before the Time-Turner activated. I was still in the cemetery—" He stopped speaking when James's eyes widened. "I mean . . . And then, suddenly, time shifted, and I was here in 1981. I honestly thought about Apparating to find my . . . but I _had_ to knock. I waited all night deliberating whether I should, but I had to just . . . see."

"If you weren't the one to travel, then how did you know how far back you'd gone?" James asked.

Harry shrugged. "Didn't. But, well, there's a really big statue in Godric's Hollow where I'm from. It's been there for years. When I knew that time had shifted, I didn't see the statue. It was put up after you and Mum . . . I couldn't believe it was gone, so I had to just . . . hope that you were both here."

James stood and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, smiling. "I'm glad you're here. It's weird, though."

Harry laughed and nodded. "It's really weird."

"So, where are your friends? Which one do you think activated the Time-Turner?"

Frowning, Harry began pacing. "I don't know. We figured that the forest would be a good place for Hermione since she needed to set up the entire ritual on her end, and it was the least likely to be populated by anyone else. It's unlikely that she was the one who sent us back." He frowned, clenching his fists nervously as he pondered the variety of horrible outcomes that would have forced any of them to travel. "Which means that something bad happened at Hogwarts."

"What do you _think_ it was?" Lily asked as she returned, hissing when her bare foot collided with a toy at the foot of the staircase that she had managed to avoid when going up. Jumping just a bit, her hands tightened protectively around the toddler in her arms.

Harry's mouth fell open in shock at the baby—at _him_! "Whoa," he muttered, swallowing down the incredibly displaced feeling that washed over him. Despite the fact that his parents were looking right at him, despite the fact that he could smell all the various scents in the house, and despite the fact that his father's hand was still on his shoulder, Harry felt as though he had been submerged into a Pensieve and was watching a memory. "That's . . . me."

Lily beamed, her eyes alight with happiness and curiosity. Harry had seen that look a thousand times in the eyes of his best friend. He could not help but wonder just how difficult it was for his mother to stifle the need to ask him thousands of questions. Thankfully, his younger self tugged on a lock of her hair, sending the expression on her face swiftly away. Sighing, she shifted him to one arm, balancing him on her hip as she used her free hand to pry his tiny fingers open. "We've talked about this. Don't pull Mummy's hair. It's not nice."

Awkward, Harry cleared his throat and scratched at the stubble on his cheek. "Should I, I don't know, apologise for that?"

Lily laughed sweetly, moving the freed lock of hair behind her ear. When the child in her gentle grip looked up, making eye contact with Harry, he froze. Lily took immediate notice. Trying to break the sudden tension, she shifted little Harry again and asked, "Do you want to hold . . . umm . . . him?"

Harry immediately shook his head. "No. I mean . . . That's weird, right? It would be weird. And I'm not good with babies? It's weird. That's me. But it's not. I'm here. Not there."

Snorting, Lily crossed the room, her smile widening a bit when Harry flinched as the younger version of himself reached a hand out to grasp at his shirt. Unable to stop himself, Harry looked down at the child's forehead, putting a great deal of focus into the unfamiliar empty space on his forehead. "Wow," he whispered softly to himself, using a finger to push back the black fringe on the toddler's face to get a better look. "This is surreal. I thought that I'd feel something, I dunno, magical? Like I'd feel something from his side. I know that's mental."

The Potter family stood silent for several minutes, watching as the child investigated a bad stitching on Harry's t-shirt. Bored, the boy struggled in Lily's grip until she set him down on the floor to scamper off to a toy chest in the corner of the room. Harry's gaze followed after him, looking as though he were terrified of the child falling over. He relaxed his posture when Lily placed her hand on his arm.

Attention drawn to his mother, Harry noticed just how young she was. She had always been young, really, considering she died at this age; the only photographs he had of his family had been during this time of their lives. He knew they were his parents, and he had always associated them as being older than he was. They were Sirius and Remus's age, for Merlin's sake. It was too real to see them here, in the middle of a war with a child, so young and yet months away from their death. Despite being of similar age himself, Harry felt a sudden sympathy for Mrs Weasley: James and Lily Potter were too young to fight in a war.

"I'll keep you all safe," he quietly promised. "He'll get to grow up . . . normal. I swear on my magic." Before either had a chance to say anything in reply, he added, "And thank you. For . . . trusting me. I know it probably takes a lot. I didn't expect to be welcomed like this."

Frowning at the expression on his face, Lily cast a look in James's direction as though silently demanding that he fix their son. He was sad, and she would not stand for such things. "Magic proved who you are. You're our son, as odd as that is considering the situation. Family is everything to us, Harry."

James nodded. "There's nothing in the world more important."

Harry tried to swallow down the building emotions that their acceptance and trust gave him—things he had never expected to have in this life—but the knot in his throat refused to move, forcing him to choke out a small sob. The noise gone, he took in a ragged breath, smiling when he felt his father squeeze his shoulder and his mother take his hand in both of hers.

The moment was finally interrupted when a bright flash of silver flew in through the window. James reacted impulsively, drawing his wand at the movement and shoving both Lily and Harry behind him toward the corner where little Harry was quietly playing with a stuffed dragon.

"It's a Patronus," Lily said reproachfully, flicking the back of James's ear. "I'm brewing you a Calming Draught."

"Constant vigilance," James said, lowering his wand and rubbing at his ear.

Harry was upset that James had so willingly put himself in what he thought might have been danger, all to protect his family—Harry included. He briefly thought about restraining both of his parents and putting them inside a Gringotts vault for the duration of the war. Depending on how Sirius reacted when meeting him, he might be able to get his godfather's assistance. Harry had been too distracted, that he failed to immediately look at the shape of the Patronus.

The spectral creature perched on the edge of a nearby table, looked Harry right in the eyes, and opened its mouth. _"Safe."_

Harry let out a loud sigh of relief, feeling a tightness in his chest that he had not realised was there finally let go. "Thank Merlin," he whispered as the Patronus faded away.

The corner of Lily's mouth turned up. "Patronuses can speak? What spell is that?" she asked excitedly.

Harry drew his wand, swirling it as he cast, _"Expecto Patronum!"_ As it had since his third year at Hogwarts, the massive stag made its way out of Harry's wand, shaking its head and craning its neck as though it had been stored in the wand and needed a good stretch. At the sight of the Patronus, James's eyes widened, looking very much like a child come Christmas morning.

"It's beautiful," Lily whispered. When the stag seemed to regard her, having heard the words, her smile widened. "That's right. You're beautiful."

"How come you never say that to me?" James teased.

She laughed. "Because when you look like this, you smell wretched."

"Safe," Harry said to the Patronus, swirling his wand twice in a circle before flicking it toward the window. The stag nodded its head and darted through the same window that the earlier Patronus had arrived through. "I can teach you the exact movements later. My friends and I came up with this system to communicate. The Patronus will only come near them if they're alone or sense from the recipient that it's safe. That way it keeps their cover if they're in hiding and prevents enemies from possibly using our messages. When all three of us get a confirmation of safety, whoever set the Time-Turner off will send a follow-up message."

"And was that . . ." Lily paused, trying to remember. "Hermione? The voice sounded male, but I didn't want to assume that Patronuses didn't have their own voice."

Harry shook his head. "No, Hermione's Patronus is an otter."

"That was a weasel," James pointed out. "Doesn't Arthur Weasley have a weasel Patronus, Lils?" At her nod of confirmation, he asked, "Is your other friend a Weasley?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm friends with the Weasleys, yes. Except . . . that wasn't a weasel."

Brow arched, James asked, "Then what was it?"

Harry sighed. "A ferret."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

 **December 1998  
** **Bulgaria**

The last time Hermione had felt genuine warmth, she was secure inside Bulgaria, long before they were forced to return to Britain. Before they had lost more friends to Voldemort's war. The last truly warm sleep she could remember was the night before it all went to hell. Werewolves in Bulgaria were restless, and not even the Krums could keep everyone safe. The full moon was high, and Ginny had crawled into the bed that Hermione usually shared with Viktor, saying that she could hear Draco and Harry shouting at one another through the walls.

The Malfoys showing up had been a surprise indeed. On the run from Voldemort thanks to Narcissa's lies, Lucius bartered every last Knut he owned in exchange for his wife and son's safety. Then, in an act that the surviving Order found surprising of the Death Eater, he returned to Britain in hopes of leading his former comrades in the opposite direction of where he had placed his family. Narcissa had taken up lodgings with Andromeda and Teddy, and Draco was asked to room with Harry and Ron. Ron, however, had vacated the bedroom weeks earlier when even he grew tired of the other two bickering.

"What's it like sleeping with a werewolf?" Ginny asked quietly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Go to sleep."

"Can't. I need sexy thoughts of a ravishing Viktor Krum to lull me into a happy slumber." She giggled when Hermione hit her with a small pillow. "Come on. I want details. I'll tell you about my sex life in exchange."

Making a face, Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to know what you and Harry—"

"Oh please," Ginny said, scoffing. "Harry and I haven't . . . That all ended sixth year."

"I was _talking_ about sixth year," Hermione said. "I might have an aneurysm if you tell me that you defiled the common room or, Merlin forbid, the library."

"Hogwarts had a library?" Hermione hit her with a pillow, causing Ginny to laugh louder. "Never much more than snogging, I swear it. I'd meant _Dean_ , actually. If you'd like to know about Harry's sex life, I am not the one to be asking—"

"Stop," Hermione groaned, putting her pillow over her own face.

"Tell me then."

Sighing, she tilted her head to the side so that she could get a good look at Ginny, who was peeking at her mischievously. "It's nice.". When Ginny snorted, unsatisfied, Hermione went on. "I mean . . . It's good. Really good. But there's just . . . something missing. I feel like we're puzzle pieces. The pieces fit together, but we don't belong to the same puzzle. Does that make sense?"

"No." Snuggling closer for warmth, Ginny sighed. "But I think you should enjoy fitting together while you can. Do you think my brothers will make it back?"

Hermione frowned. What Weasleys were left alive had gone on a covert mission, leaving behind only Ginny and Molly. She and Harry had both protested Ron leaving without them, but he had been attached at George's hip since Hogwarts—and Fred—had fallen, and he would not be swayed.

They had never made it back, of course, and a group of renegade Bulgarian werewolves had decided to switch allegiances the following morning. Viktor did not return after sunrise. The remaining Order members escaped back to their home country in search of the missing Weasleys, only to find that the ones that had not been killed were thrown in Azkaban—Ron amongst them.

Every night after that had felt cold, even with the strongest of Warming Charms.

* * *

 **July 19th, 1981  
** **Forest of Dean**

Hermione opened her eyes to the feel of comfortable heat pressed against her back. Skin on skin that sent a rush of pleasure through her veins. She was warm and comfortable and, despite the circumstances, felt safe. She had found her missing puzzle piece. When Remus snuggled closer to her, the stubble on his chin brushed against the freshly bitten—and magically healed—mark on her shoulder. The touch sent a shiver down her body, and she unconsciously pressed her arse back against him, seeking friction. Even in sleep, he reacted, pushing forward. Her eyes fluttered at the feel and the remembrance of what it was like when he was inside her.

Not wanting to get carried away, especially since she did not remember falling asleep, Hermione took note of her surroundings. While no Muggle or Wizarding tents were used for the werewolves to sleep in, someone had constructed a shelter of sorts out of branches, leaves, and clothing. The makeshift wall faced Hermione, but she could feel a breeze coming from behind. Craning her neck, she could see that they were exposed on the other side, facing a long row of trees on the side of a large hill. Remus had made himself the protective wall at her back, sheltering her.

"How long have you been awake?" A fluttering instinct in the back of her mind told her that she was being watched and listened to, even if his eyes were closed.

"A few minutes," he replied. The hand around her waist gently pulled her closer to him as though even the smallest space between them caused him agony. His hand travelled up between her breasts, and Hermione clutched it to her chest as though it were a lifeline.

"Are you all right?"

Remus took a while to answer, but eventually, he pressed his nose against the back of her neck and exhaled, the warm breath bathing the top of her spine like silky water. "What do you remember?"

"You claimed me," she said, instinctively tilting her head to the side. She shivered pleasantly when she felt his lips press against the scar he had left behind. "It feels good. It _felt_ good. I wasn't . . . You did what you had to do. I mean . . . with the other wolf."

"Is it bad that I don't feel guilty?" he asked her. "I've spent my whole life trying to not be a monster. Trying to be better. But he didn't want you. He wanted to hurt you."

"He tried and failed," she said, squeezing his arm tighter. "Had you not killed him, I would have tried. I travelled from one war into another, and I'm done with it. I'll do anything to bring it all to an end, Remus. You're not a murderer; you're a soldier." She pulled back and rolled over onto her side to face him. Tracing the scars on his chest, she whispered, "I would have done the same for you."

Exhaling again, Hermione could feel the way the tension rolled off of him as he pressed his forehead against hers and muttered, "Mine."

Letting herself bask in the sound of his voice, she bit her lower lip before echoing his sentiments. "Mine."

The moment was broken when the bit of darkness they had with the wall blocking out the sunrise was interrupted by light coming from the foot of their makeshift shelter. Remus tensed and then jolted upright, searching for his wand that was in the midst of a pile of clothing near his head. Green eyes widened when he saw what stood before him.

"Prongs?"

Hermione smiled, relief flooding her senses at the sight of the stag Patronus scraping at the ground with its front hoof. The ferret between its legs stared at Hermione—if it was possible—with a condescending smirk on its twitchy little face. "Not quite," she told Remus.

Both Patronuses opened their mouths and said, "Safe."

Hermione grabbed Remus's hand and grinned as the silver spectrals vanished. "They're alive. They made it back with me, and they're safe. My friends. Harry made it back safely." She sat up, looking for clothes, only to find that she was still missing everything she owned. "Remus, I need your wand."

Only with slight hesitation did he hand it over to her, watching with interest as she swirled it in the air with ease, the magic submitting to her as though the wood had been given to her by Ollivander himself. A tiny, silver otter emerged from the end of the wand, swimming on its back midair as easily as if it had been water. "Safe." The otter, like the others, vanished.

"What's going on?" Remus asked as he moved to stand, reaching for his trousers. He tucked the wand back into the pocket when she handed it back.

"Harry will be in Godric's Hollow," she said. "That's where he had planned to go for the Summoning Spell we had planned. If he's safe, that means he's likely with his parents. I love him, I do, but I would not put it past him to take this chance to see them face to face. Besides, that's where we were planning to go, right?"

"Go?" Remus blinked rapidly. "Hermione, I . . ." He swallowed nervously, looking down at her, and a pink tinge touched his cheeks. At the same time, Hermione lifted her arms to cover her breasts.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Strange, isn't it? Even after everything, we're basically strangers."

He nodded in agreement. "Had the umm . . . mate thing not been a factor, I would have been a bit slower with you. Might have asked you for ice cream."

"I like strawberry."

He grinned until he recalled her earlier words. "After the claiming, you blacked out. It happens sometimes when a connection is strong. Greyback told me to get you rested up because we're leaving today. He has plans to raid a village that's going to be a few days away. He'll want me at the front with the others. If we plan on Disapparating . . . It's going to be a close call. There's a chance that someone could grab either of us and go along for the ride. That's not something we can risk. We'll need a distraction."

Hermione nodded and chewed on her bottom lip, deep in thought. "I have an idea. Do you know if they still have my things? They took my clothes, but I also had a bag. It was purple and had beads all over it."

"It's likely. We never really leave anything behind if it could be useful. Sometimes Greyback sends the children into the more populated towns to steal purses and wallets. What's in the bag?"

She grinned. "A lot. Thankfully, I have it charmed so that it will only open to me. I'd been organising it the night that I travelled. Luckily, things that would place me as from the future weren't in the bag. Mostly travelling equipment, clothing, and older books that I'd been collecting. I rarely had any editions later than 1950, and all of the books on darker subjects had been removed because I was working through them before the Time-Turner went off."

Remus lifted a curious brow as he listened, trying not to focus on the way that her voice was possibly the loveliest thing he had ever heard. "And how will this help?" he asked as he buckled his belt.

Hermione looked up at him with a smirk. "I'm going to give Greyback and the others some supplies."

* * *

"I hope she hasn't lost all of her spark," Greyback said with a grin as he examined Hermione.

She had been offered clothes in order to be paraded around the camp, no longer a piece of flesh to be auctioned off; she was now the mate of one of Greyback's own. Among other females and children, that made her special. Among the other male wolves in Greyback's personal group, that made her nothing, especially since none of them cared much for Remus to begin with and did not believe he was worthy of being given a mate.

In response to Greyback's appraisal, Hermione narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth at him, growling low in her throat. It was hardly all she wanted to do to the monster, but she and Remus had planned her actions carefully. At the sign of aggression, Remus yanked on the back of her hair, baring her throat to Greyback in a show of forced submission. She whimpered and struggled until Remus opened his mouth, pressing his teeth against the mark on her shoulder.

The way she shivered as her knees fought to buckle was not feigned, but she did purposely fight back the urge to strike out when Greyback laughed in approval.

"If I knew this was all you needed, boy, I would have gone in search of a feisty female for you." Remus kept a grip on Hermione's hair, even as he took his mouth from her shoulder. Greyback clapped him on the back in approval before taking Remus's face in his hands. "Do you see now? Do you see what a gift I've given you?"

Remus, knowing that a full change of attitude would seem suspicious, frowned and looked away for a moment. His gaze raked over Hermione's body, watching as her pulse beat against the skin of her throat. Swallowing hard, he let out a heavy exhale and muttered, "I'm beginning to . . . grasp the benefits."

Seff scoffed loudly in disbelief, and Remus bared his teeth in response.

Greyback looked like Christmas had come early.

"Let. Go," Hermione said through clenched teeth.

Remus pulled her hair tighter. "Never."

"Your female needs shoes," Greyback said, looking down and seeing the woman was barefoot. "The trip is long, and she'll already slow us down since she's new and still adjusting."

"I can carry her," Remus argued.

Greyback snorted. "Someone give the girl her shoes."

"I want my own things," Hermione ground out. Acting as though it were out of his control—as though the pure primal drive of the wolf had taken over—Remus put his teeth back on her shoulder, and she let out a whimper that was humiliatingly loud, though purposely so. She closed her eyes, pretending as though she was disgusted by the noises she made. "P-Please . . . I have . . . I have supplies."

Suddenly interested, Greyback physically pulled Remus off of her shoulder. "Ease up. What's that, girly? Supplies you say?"

Hermione nodded. "Money. I have money in my bag. It was taken from me along with my clothes."

Remus watched carefully as Greyback towered over her, looking for that still-defiant spark he expected to see in her eyes. When he found it, he grinned, and Remus held back the sigh of relief that fought to escape him. Glancing over his shoulder, he made eye contact with Rollo and Susi in silent farewell. His friends nodded in understanding, looking away faster than they would have liked to in order to prevent suspicions.

"Bring the girl her things."

"Fenrir," Seff muttered, "her clothes were destroyed. Poor thing." His eyes met Remus's and the two glared at one another. "The bag is locked. Couldn't open the bloody thing."

Greyback pressed his forehead against Hermione's and snarled. "Trying to trick me, girl? What's really in the bag?"

"My belongings," she said. "And that bag will only open for me."

"Don't let her touch it. Maybe after walking ten kilometres or so will change her attitude. Remus, you're forbidden to carry her." When Greyback made eye contact, Remus appropriately lowered his gaze. "When we make camp again tonight, I expect to hear you teaching her a lesson in respect. Is that understood?"

Remus swallowed hesitantly. Greyback let out a ferocious growl and took Hermione by the hair. "Maybe I'll do it myself!"

"No! I'll . . . I'll do it," Remus said, hands up as he reached for Hermione without touching her, knowing better than to take something directly out of Greyback's hand. When she was released back into his arms, he ran his nose against her jawline, letting everyone watch as he let his inner wolf take over, rubbing his own scent back along her skin. Many of the wolves watched in absolute shock, seeing that Remus had been the most human of them all; Seff and Anthony continued to glower at the newly mated couple. Greyback, however, was momentarily appeased.

"Keep her bag, Seff. All right, let's take down the wards and get a move on."

Everyone watched Hermione closely as the magical security was taken down preventing anyone from Disapparating. Despite the fact that she did not have a wand, she was clearly not to be trusted. She looked tempted to move, but Remus fisted her hair once again, and Hermione forced out a single tear, turning her head to make absolutely sure that Greyback watched her cry in defeat.

Remus held her hand as they walked over the rough terrain for two kilometres. She purposely allowed herself to trip twice, skinning her knee once and letting out a yelp of pain. Greyback and the others laughed. Remus stared on, guilty, as he watched her perform to the best of her ability, forcing himself to appear as unaffected as possible.

When she fell the third time, Remus knelt down, trying to gently pull her back to her feet. He impatiently muttered, "Hurry. You can't keep us back. Do you want Greyback to take you from me?"

The pack kept moving ahead, giving Hermione and Remus a wide berth.

"Can you move?" Remus anxiously asked, waiting for her signal.

Hermione exhaled as she felt him slip his wand into her palm. "I solemnly swear."

Standing upright, Remus yelled, "Seff!"

Pivoting quickly, the other werewolf set eyes on Remus, not knowing that he should have looked at Hermione. She aimed the wand, adrenaline pumping through her veins, and yelled, " _Finite Incantantum!_ "

The purple beaded bag in Seff's hands exploded, the contents shooting up into the air like a geyser. A vast array of clothing blocked Greyback and Seff's view, and a tent pole shot out of the little purse, striking Anthony square in the forehead and knocking him swiftly to the ground. Kettles, pots, and pans rained down from the sky, and Hermione was able to smile once in victory before Remus pulled his wand from her hand, hugged her tightly against his chest, and Disapparated them both safely away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

 **July 19th, 1981  
** **Godric's Hollow**

It had been hours since Harry had sent off his Patronus to Draco and Hermione. When the little otter had flown in through the window of the cottage, briefly swimming around the toddler version of himself, Harry had smiled. Knowing that Draco was safe was a weight off of his shoulders, but he had fully expected for Hermione to have initiated contact first. He had assumed that if they ever activated the Time-Turners to go back this far, it would have been Hermione's idea; Draco often complained about time travelling. When Hermione's Patronus had finally returned and told him that she was safe, Harry had nearly cried in relief. They had _all_ made it back. They had left behind their entire world for the unknown, but all three of them had made the trip safely.

The three of them had always had a final, last-ditch effort plan, right from the moment that they had slipped the devices around their necks. Go back, bit by bit, to see if they could save as many people as possible or get close enough to Voldemort to strike a final blow. Somehow, everything had always turned against them; their friends had always died, or, like Ron and George, ended up in Azkaban.

Harry had used the Time-Turners most often, always wanting to save everyone. Unfortunately, in every new timeline that Harry created by going back a few hours to save one person, someone else would ultimately die in their place. He could never be in enough places at once. When Andromeda and Teddy had been murdered, he had nearly gotten Hermione killed after turning back without warning, which landed her in the middle of a previously fought battle due to her location. When nothing Harry had tried could save his godson and Andromeda, and once Hermione had recovered from a hit she had taken in the side from a stray hex, he had promised that he would never be the one to turn back again, not unless he had no choice. Hermione, of course, had agreed.

Despite being safe, knowing that Draco was the one to send them back made Harry incredibly anxious. The sooner the three of them were together again, the easier his heart would rest. In the meantime, he smiled as his mother fussed over him.

"How do you take your tea?" she asked, bringing him a cup. "If you're anything like James, I imagine it's sugar and milk? I take mine with lemon, but I've never had a sweet tooth like the boys. Though, I will admit I had a slight addiction to sugar quills during fifth year."

Harry beamed up at her. He would have drunk Stinksap if his mother served it to him. "This is great . . . umm . . ."

Lily smiled down at him as he took the cup and awkwardly fumbled over his words. As if she understood what was concerning him, she delicately pushed the fringe out of his eyes and said, "Mum. You can call me that. It's true, after all. I know that, technically, we're near in age, but who says we have to pay attention to technicalities?"

"You do." James walked into the room, folding a piece of parchment up and slipping it into an envelope. "All the time. You're all about details and technicalities."

"Am not," Lily argued. "Don't listen to a word he says, Harry. Your father is a wretched liar."

James grinned at her, a roguish smile that Harry assumed had been perfected once he had actually won the girl, rather than during the six years he had spent pining and pleading for her attention. "Don't tell the lad lies about me," he said with a laugh. "You are all about details and technicalities. Unbending, you are. You once threw a chizpurfle fang at my head."

"That's because you suggested that newt blood could be used in place of salamander blood in a Wiggenweld Potion," Lily defended, folding her arms across her chest as she flopped down beside Harry on the sofa. "Honestly."

Harry cleared his throat, chuckling under his breath. When Lily turned and smiled at him, he sheepishly confessed his ignorance by asking, "Is there a difference?"

James laughed when Lily's eyes widened dramatically. She placed her hand to her heart and sighed. "No Potions N.E.W.T.?"

Harry, sparing her the story of his seventh year that never was, placated her by admitting, "Got an O.W.L. in it: Exceeds Expectations. I earned an Outstanding in Defence, though."

"We can't all be perfect, love," James said as he passed by once more, stopping to kiss the top of Lily's head. She waved him off silently, devoting her entire attention to Harry. Sealing the envelope in his hand, James exhaled. "Right. I told Sirius to come home straight away, not to say a word to anyone about it or to cause a scene, and that there was no need to worry because we were all safe."

"That doesn't sound ominous." Lily sighed nervously. "Do we even know how to get ahold of Remus and Peter?"

James shook his head. "Peter's in Ireland helping track the illegal potions that Moody overheard one of the Lestranges purchasing. Remus is Merlin knows where on Dumbledore's orders."

Huffing, Lily wrung her hands together angrily. "You know very well where Remus is, James."

Sighing, James looked at Harry. "Any ideas?"

"On Remus's location? A few." Harry made eye contact with his mother and frowned. "I suppose it won't do much damage now that we've already altered the timeline. Remus is spying on Greyback's werewolf pack."

Letting out an exhale filled with fury, Lily scowled. "I knew it. God, I just knew it. How awful. How could Dumbledore think to send Remus back to the man who attacked him as a boy? That's wretched."

James looked no more pleased than his wife but a great deal more torn about the information. "Harry, is there something we need to know about Dumbledore?"

Harry looked down, unable to make eye contact with his father. "He just . . . wants to end the war."

"By any means necessary?"

Before Harry could answer, the conversation was interrupted again by the small, silver otter. "Hermione?" he asked, often forgetting that Patronuses were more like telegrams than telephones.

The otter perched on the table nearest Harry, and opened its mouth. "Outside. Now."

Harry ran to the front door, flinging it open and drawing his wand. "Hermione!"

"I'm fine," she insisted with a smile, limping toward him. "Just a little splinch. We were in a rush." A trickle of blood rolled down her left calf as she hobbled toward her friend, half supported by Remus.

James gaped in shock. "Moony?"

"Hullo, Prongs."

"Get inside, everyone," Lily said from the door, ushering them all into the house while simultaneously casting a Notice-Me-Not in case any villagers happened to glance in the direction of the cottage.

"These wards are child's play," Hermione said to the room at large. "I don't even have a wand, and I can feel how weak they are. Specifically, there's an erosion on the left corner." She would have said more, but Harry wrapped her in a tight hug, and she found herself letting out an involuntary sob of relief. "God, I thought for a while there that I'd come back alone."

"Never," Harry murmured. "We've handled worse things together than decades of time travel in one go."

Hermione laughed. "Trolls."

"Umbridge."

"Ron's snoring."

Harry squeezed her tighter. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," she promised. "There are a few things that have altered our plans." Hermione let go of Harry and turned around to see Remus being similarly hugged by another man. Her attention was then drawn to the only other witch in the room. "Wow," she said in awe, "Lily Potter."

Lily smiled awkwardly. "You must be Hermione."

"It's an honour." Hermione extended her hand to the redhead. "Truly." She let out a nervous sigh when Lily took her hand. Despite being surrounded by friends, there was a tension in the air. "How much has Harry told you?"

James frowned. "Enough."

Harry shook his head. " _Just_ enough. I told them about the war, our war, and how we got the Time-Turners." He took a good look at Remus and the way that the man's gaze rested possessively on Hermione. "What have you been sharing?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes just slightly. "Just enough."

Smiling, Harry sighed and brought her in for another hug. Stepping back, he gave her a once over, looking for injuries. "These aren't your clothes. Why aren't you wearing shoes? Hermione! Your feet are bleeding."

Wincing, Hermione glanced down at her feet and then immediately up at Lily. "I'm so sorry. I'd forgotten."

"Don't apologise," Lily insisted, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders and brushing Remus away in the process. "Let's get you healed up. I have some Dittany in the kitchen."

Hermione looked back at Remus, offering him a gentle smile as she was pulled from his reach. "You keep your Dittany in the kitchen?"

Lily chuckled sweetly. "Boys like to do things the Muggle way sometimes. I'm sure you know how that is."

"Oh, it'll be nice to have another Muggle-born around," Hermione said, her voice thick with emotion as she disappeared around a corner.

Harry's focus was drawn to the man standing beside his father. "Wow," he muttered, awkwardly extending his hand. "I'm umm . . . Harry."

Remus stared at the hand for a long time before laughing. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever felt so mental in all my life, and that's truly saying something." He shared a look with James before taking Harry's hand. "Well, Harry, I suppose you know who I am then? Hermione told me all about you. Then again," he said, looking at the child in the corner currently chewing on the wing of a stuffed dragon, "I suppose we've already met, haven't we? Or _will_ meet."

"Even so," Harry said, his eyes wet as he stared at the man with a mixture of grief and joy. "It's good to see you again, Remus. You've no idea." His smile was so wide it threatened to actually hurt, and Harry glanced at his father. "Honestly, if Sirius were to walk through that door right now, I might just . . . I've not been this happy in quite some time."

James snorted. "Might not let your girlfriend hear that." Harry's smile faded instantly, a split second before Remus let go of his hand and growled. James blinked, wide-eyed, and stared at the pair of them as they shared confused looks. "What did I say? Isn't she your—?"

"No," Remus answered on Harry's behalf. "She . . . She's not. Right?"

Harry shook his head as he stared at Remus. "No. She's family to me. I'm a little curious as to why you're so concerned with . . ." His eyes widened comically, and Harry looked back toward the kitchen. "Hermione! Something you'd like to share?"

James's eyebrows lifted, and he let out a low whistle. "Well done, Moony."

"Piss off," Remus muttered without emotion, following Harry's line of sight toward the kitchen.

* * *

Hermione winced as she sat down at the small table in the kitchen while Lily fussed around in the cabinets, looking for the Dittany and potions. Her gaze settling on the high chair at the end of the table, Hermione smiled. "This is good. Harry will grow up in a world without Voldemort. We always knew coming back this far was a long shot, especially since it was irreversible, but . . . it will be worth it. Everything will be fine now."

Lily came to Hermione's side, pulling another chair out for her to put her feet up on. "What about you? The three of you, I mean. Harry said that he came back with another person as well? What are the three of you going to do when Voldemort is gone?"

Hermione let out a laugh to stop herself from crying. "When he's gone. God, I don't think any of us ever made plans. I personally never imagined surviving this long, let alone the entire war. Harry will be fine, though. He always is. And now . . . Well, now he has his family back." Her voice broke on the end of her words, and she sucked in a sharp breath, glad when Lily pressed a wet cloth to the bottom of her feet. It stung like hell, but it was distracting.

"You'll all stay with us for as long as you need."

Hermione shook her head. "I wouldn't impose."

"You're family. Harry says you've been with him since he was eleven, and we'll not separate you now." When Hermione smiled at her sadly, Lily placed a hand on her knee. "I know what it's like to leave everything behind and put blind faith in a world where you know you belong but still aren't welcome. We Muggle-borns have to rebuild our entire lives in this world. It's terrible, but you have to do it again. I'll help; it's the least I can do for you."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Hermione laughed quietly. "Harry's always understood, to a small degree, since he was raised Muggle, but people don't look at him the same way they do me, knowing who my parents are."

Lily's brows furrowed curiously. "What do you mean he was raised Muggle? I mean, I know that James and I . . . that we didn't originally make it," she said, trying to be careful with her words, as though acknowledging her own death by saying "died" would somehow alert fate. "I highly doubt Sirius would have ever gone full Muggle, though."

Realising her mistake, Hermione's mouth fell open. Lily caught the look immediately, green eyes widening. Before either could say another word, Harry yelled from the other room, and Hermione jumped to her feet, wincing at the pressure and stretch of newly repaired skin.

Darting out of Lily's path, Hermione peeked back from around the corner into the living room. She bit her lower lip, keeping eye contact with Harry as she wobbled back toward the group as though her feet were still injured. They were cleaned and healed, the smell of Dittany lingering.

"Everything all right, Harry?" she asked innocently, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. When he continued to just gape at her silently, her lips pursed and her nose twitched. "Oh, don't you give me that look, Harry James Potter. You've no idea what I've been through while you've been having tea with your parents. Thank God for Remus. If he'd not been there, I certainly wouldn't have survived."

Harry frowned, his curiosity about his best friend and Remus giving way to concern. "Where were you? What happened?"

"I arrived just where I was when I left our time," Hermione began with some hesitation, "in the Forest of Dean . . . during a full moon."

The worried look that Lily sported as she followed her in faded into an expression of sympathy and concern.

Paling dramatically, Harry pulled her into his arms. "Did anyone—?"

Hermione nodded, tears springing to her eyes. "I tried to fight them off, but I got bit. I'm a . . ." She gasped in between words, doing her best to try and not break down in tears. She had not properly cried since arriving in the past, but Harry had a way of breaking through all of her barriers with his love and concern. "I'm a . . ."

"You're going to be fine."

She looked up through wet eyelashes that clung together to see James Potter standing right behind Harry. His stern and determined expression truly did look just like his son's—or vice versa—and Hermione could actually feel the way that Remus relaxed the closer that his friend came to her. With Harry, he was tense, but James was someone he trusted without a thought. "You're going to be fine. Lily's a dab hand at healing, and we've had years of practise at handling werewolves," James said with a wry, but kind, grin. "You won't be alone. We know what to do."

* * *

An hour later, after a long shower and a fresh set of clothing borrowed from Lily, Hermione stood in front of a full-length mirror in the spare bedroom upstairs. Old Quidditch trophies sat on a shelf in the corner, and there were photographs—both magical and Muggle—hung on the walls. Harry had clearly slept there the night before, as his old clothes were hanging out of the hamper.

Hermione tried to adjust the collar of her blouse so that it covered the scar left behind. "One of many," she mumbled when nothing she did seemed to hide the silvery-pink crescent. She tilted her head to the other side, examining the mark left behind by Bellatrix's dagger.

"Hey."

Hermione looked at Harry's reflection in the mirror and smiled. "Hey."

He walked in, hands in his pockets. "Came to see if you needed anything. Remus is a bit of a mess downstairs. My, uh . . . mum gave him a little Calming Draught. God, that's so weird to say. I can't believe this has happened."

Turning around, Hermione faced him as she twisted her hair up into a messy ponytail. "It's good, though. We're going to fix everything." When she noticed Harry's eyes drawn to her scar, she sighed. "Don't look at me like that. And I swear, Harry, if you think this is your fault, I will hit you with something."

"Did it hurt?"

"This one? No." At his confused expression, Hermione cleared her throat. "I'm glad you came up alone. I don't want you freaking out in front of everyone else." She lifted her blouse, revealing the nasty bite wound on her side where she had been infected. "That's where I was bitten. They broke my wand, trapped me, and then when the sun came up, they took me back to their camp. Stole my clothes and my bag and paraded me in front of the whole werewolf pack. Apparently, newly bitten females are essentially auctioned off to the highest bidder."

When Harry's face began to turn red, she placed a hand on his arm. "Calm down. I'm safe now, aren't I?"

"That's despicable."

"Remus saved me."

Harry looked up. When she did not continue speaking, he stared at her suspiciously. "How?"

In answer, she pulled the collar back from her blouse, revealing the entire scar on her shoulder. "He took me. There was no other way to escape. Greyback had the area locked down with magic, and there were too many people to just make a run for it. Plus . . . remember in fifth year when we were researching for Dumbledore's Army, and we stumbled on those books about Dark creatures?"

Harry nodded, all of the red in his face settling in his cheeks. "The ones about werewolves . . ."

"Mating."

"Fucking hell." Harry leant forward, putting his head in his hands. "You're—"

"Mates. Actual ones too. Magically fated."

Sitting up, his brow pulled together. "But what about Tonks? And does this mean that Remus wanted you back when . . . Oh Merlin."

"It's triggered by a kiss. I kissed him, and then everything just . . . It's intense. So no, you horrible man," she said, pushing him away playfully, "Professor Lupin did not fancy me when I was a child. Also, best not mention that he was our professor. You know how he gets. He's less . . . self-deprecating than he was in his thirties, but still."

"I won't say anything. Bloody hell." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "He did love Tonks, though. Once."

Hermione nodded, swallowing down the guilt that crept up whenever she thought on it too hard. "They fell in love fighting a war. Tonks probably isn't even at Hogwarts yet. They won't have the chance to fall in love because we're going to end the war. Tonks won't ever have to fight or . . . die."

Harry still looked guilty. Hermione knew he was thinking about Teddy, but she refused to mention the baby's name. Harry had been so torn up about his death that she and Draco had collaborated in an attempt to remove the memories. In the end, they were able to take away the trauma, but leave Harry with the knowledge of what had happened. No one wanted to forget entirely.

They sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning on one another for support. A light in the window drew their attention, and they both turned to see a silver ferret sitting on the ledge. Harry let out a loud sigh of relief, pivoting to face the Patronus as though it were actually Draco. Hermione nearly fell off the bed with the sharp movement.

"Thank Merlin. He should have sent something hours ago."

The ferret opened its mouth, and Draco's familiar aristocratic drawl came out: _"I'm safe. I don't want to explain why I activated the Time-Turner, not until I can do it in person. I can't come to you right away because Dumbledore knows that someone came through the wards here at Hogwarts; I imagine he's searching for the intruder right now. I've secluded myself in the Room of Hidden Things. Figure I'll do a little cleaning up while I'm here. Scratch something off of our to-do list."_

"The diadem," Hermione whispered.

Harry's jaw clenched. "If that arsehole tries to cast Fiendfyre to destroy a bloody Horcrux without us, I'll kill him."

 _"I'll come to you soon. Stay where you are, Potter. Be smart. Don't be you."_

The ferret vanished, and Harry audibly growled. "Don't be me. Wanker."

Hermione put her arm around his shoulders. "You love him."

Harry shrugged.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

 **July 19th, 1981**

A restful night of sleep was on the agenda for everyone in the small Godric's Hollow cottage. Remus and Hermione had taken over the spare bedroom that Harry had stayed in the night before, while Harry had been relocated to his childhood nursery. Baby Harry's crib was moved into Lily and James's room, and a proper bed was transfigured out of a rocking chair that sat beneath the nursery window.

Lily had quipped that it was a good thing James was such a master at Transfiguration since they were likely to have more guests staying once Sirius and Peter came home. Harry and Hermione purposely had not looked at one another at the mention of Peter. Neither were ready to have that conversation with the Potters or Remus. Hermione knew that they needed to wait for Sirius's arrival first and ensure the man would not do anything stupid—like last time—when he discovered the betrayal.

The still very human part of her wanted to stay with Harry. She had seldom been far from her best friend since they first left to hunt Horcruxes, and there was an integral part of her that needed to be close to him to assure that he would be safe and alive. The new part of her, however—the lycanthropic magic that pulsed in her veins like the beat of a war drum—yearned for Remus as though he were the first sunbeam to fall upon a prisoner, as though he were that first desperate gulp of air upon breaking the surface of a raging sea.

Harry had awkwardly hugged her goodnight, looking like he wanted to make a smart remark under his breath but thought better of it when she pinned him with a glare.

She thanked Lily for a set of borrowed nightclothes, and then cleared her throat as she stepped into the spare room to find Remus standing at the side of the bed, staring at the mattress as though it were an Arithmancy equation.

"Strange," she muttered quietly. "We don't have to share . . . I mean, if it's awkward, I can sleep—"

"I want to be right next to you," Remus blurted out, looking embarrassed as the words fell from his lips. "Sorry. I'm not usually . . . Sorry."

She smiled. "Me either. Perhaps . . . Do you think it would be best to just be honest? Being a werewolf is something you're experienced at that I'm not, but we're both adrift as far as this mates thing goes. Maybe we should just say exactly what we're thinking when we think it? For all we know, it could be essential."

Swallowing hard and looking pained by it, Remus nodded. "I'd like . . . I'd like very much to feel your skin."

Trying not to show how much his words affected her, Hermione shifted where she stood. "I'd like that as well." Skin to skin during the previous night had been like a healing salve on an aching wound.

She watched as Remus pulled back the blankets and adjusted the pillow on his side. She automatically began doing the same, though paying little attention as her hands mechanically mimicked his movements, smoothing down the blanket. When his fingers tugged at the bottom of his shirt before pulling it over his head, she looked away to prevent him from catching her staring at him.

"Honesty?" Remus quietly asked with a soft chuckle. "I can hear the way your heart picks up when you panic. You're not afraid, are you?"

Only slightly humiliated, Hermione laughed into her hands. "No. Certainly not afraid."

"Then what is it?"

Opening her eyes and peeking between her fingers, she saw a concerned look on his face that seemed to be hiding something else. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Are you having a laugh, Remus Lupin?"

He smiled. "Humour me a little, will you? It's not often I catch a pretty witch blushing around me."

"I find that very hard to believe," she said softly, raking her eyes over his exposed chest.

She assumed that he found the scars on his skin hideous, but she thought they were beautiful. It ached to know where they came from and the pain they had caused, but the contrasting colours that blended into his complexion were startlingly attractive, and there was a long scar that ran through his chest—flat and smooth skin that broke through chest hair.

As much as it hurt to think of the friends that were left behind in the future, Hermione was pleased that Ginny was not around at that moment to tease Hermione over this. Draco, however, was likely going to be a nightmare when he showed up and found out that she had not only gone and mated herself to their former professor, but she was apparently taken with him to the point of adolescent stupidity.

Remus climbed in bed, and Hermione followed, pressing against his side instinctively and resting her cheek against his chest so that she could feel his heartbeat. She could hear him breathe in deep, his nose in her hair at the top of her head. Her magic began to settle in her chest.

"You're safe."

She closed her eyes, wanting to believe him, and waited for sleep to take her.

* * *

Several hours later, in the middle of the night, Remus woke up with panic flooding his senses. Unused to the feel of soft sheets and a comfortable mattress, it took a moment for the fog clouding his brain to be shaken away and to remember where he was. Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow. The familiar smell of the sheets that only came from line drying would have been enough to give away his location had he never been to the cottage. Witches raised in magical homes typically learnt to use spells to do their cleaning and often used a Drying Charm followed with a spell that would add a scent to the fabric. While Remus was unaware of that particular charm, he knew that it added the same scent for every caster. Lily's preference for doing some things the Muggle way would make the scent of her sheets unique to her.

It was not Lily, though, that occupied his thoughts.

Hermione pressed against him with an unconscious need as though she were trying to fit them in the same body. The thought made him swallow hard as his body reacted to her nearness, her touch, her smell . . . everything _her_. He had read about true wolf mates and heard rumours circulating in the packs. They were told with the same air and tone that his mother used to use when reading him fairy tales, or that his father used to use when reading _Beedle the Bard_. It was a myth. Except many claimed that it was not. Some held the idea sacred. Others scoffed at it and the implications that came with it.

Remus had never been a believer.

Now, with one hand tangled in Hermione's hair and the other planted on the bare skin of her hip where her pyjama bottoms had pushed down, Remus was finding himself to be devout in his sudden worship and faith in true mates.

He shifted on the bed to try and make himself more comfortable. The summer heat mixing with the wards surrounding the house had stifled any potential air flow, and werewolves tended to run hot anyways. Having Hermione pressed right next to him was a bit stifling, but he was damned if he planned to leave her side.

The movement rekindled the deep aches in his muscles, reminding him that the full moon had only been two nights earlier. The memory of the transformation shocked something inside of him, waking the wolf within. The tingling wild magic of lycanthropy vibrated, and his senses returned to life. The smell of Hermione's skin filled his nose, and Remus groaned as he involuntarily ground his hips against her belly.

Snapped out of his own daze when her breathing pattern changed, embarrassed, Remus looked down to find himself staring into her eyes. He always saw a little better than others in the dark thanks to lupine senses, so making out the brown of her irises was easy enough. The little flecks of gold in her eyes, however—more than there had been the day before—were illuminating. She looked lost in her stare, still a little asleep but with an intense focus somewhere behind an invisible wall that Remus knew all too well.

Her wolf was coming alive within her.

Hermione made a soft little sound that was primal and needy, and he tightened his fist in her hair on instinct. Her eyes widened, and for a split second, he thought about letting go, but she growled softly and kissed him.

She was supposed to have been a myth, a rumour, a silly fairy tale told to little werewolves to ease the burden of a life alone as an outcast from society. She was not supposed to be real.

But she was. Real and perfect and delicious and just . . . She was deity as far as he was concerned. Gentle and tender and fragile, and yet she was rough and battle-worn and wild.

Her hands were frantic, pulling at her own clothing which was shifted back and down the bed as it parted from her skin. Remus's own legs got caught in his pyjama bottoms as he tried to wiggle out of them.

He took over the kiss, groaning when her tongue met his. He could taste the sweetness of her mouth and a hint of whatever toothpaste she had used prior to bed. He smiled. Most witches just used a charm to clean their teeth, but he had watched as Hermione jumped up and down and did a funny little celebratory dance when Lily had offered her a spare toothbrush. Her Muggleness reminded him that she was human, and that he, by common sense, was as well.

The thought of being something other than a wolf, and knowing that the woman in his arms knew both sides of him and embraced him so openly was a revelation. He smiled against her lips, half tempted to laugh just for the joy of it all.

Hermione pulled away from him, smiling as well. "Something funny?"

"No, just . . ." Remus took a breath. "Happy. I . . . I never thought—"

She cut off his words with another kiss, this one tender and gentle.

He helped her move when she broke the kiss and crawled over him, straddling his legs. Remus kept his hands on her hips, lifting her when she scooted forward.

The expression on her face looked like relief. Like he had somehow, through no actions or intentions of his own, filled up every missing piece of her. If that was what she was feeling, Remus understood. It felt to him like he had spent his entire life with a missing limb, never knowing it was gone until he found it. She was a warmth he had never before known. Her gentle fire flowed through him, reaching the end of every nerve, penetrating every bone, turning the riptide that was his magic into a smoothly flowing river.

"Oh God," Hermione moaned.

"If he exists, he is far too good to me."

She let out a little laugh that turned into a shuddering whimper.

Together they built a steady pace that was heated and intense, but nothing like the practically violent way their first coupling had been—not that either had a single complaint about it other than the fact that there had been an audience.

This time they were human—even if Remus could hear Moony howling in delight from somewhere deep inside his subconscious. He wondered if Hermione could hear her wolf yet. He wondered what she would look like. He wondered if her fur would be the same pretty colour that her hair was.

Remus bit down on his bottom lip to stop from laughing as he caught himself in his thoughts. The very last thing he needed was to turn their infection into a fetish. Reminding himself that this woman, this witch, was human, he ran his hands over the bare skin of her thighs.

Hermione gasped and grabbed his forearm when he struck gold, her tight grip holding him exactly where, he assumed, she wanted him.

He wrapped his arms around her back, pressing her as close to him as possible. She held onto his shoulders as he kissed her, drinking in every little noise she made. He tasted the salt of the tears that struck a path down her cheeks. He hoped they were tears of joy . . . or the relief he knew he felt himself.

* * *

 **July 20th, 1981**

Hermione woke from a deep sleep that was more restful than any other night that ever preceded it. Then again, it was likely the sleep deprivation and panic from war that led her to think that. Still, as she stretched her limbs, revelling in the pleasant ache in her muscles—and a very pleasant ache between her thighs—she was reminded that she was not alone in the bed.

Rolling over, she smiled at the way that Remus's hair sat flat against one side of his head from where he had clearly had it pressed against his pillow—or more likely from the feel of it: her shoulder. He snored very softly, looking a mixture of exhausted and yet restful. Memories of the night before came rushing back to the forefront of her mind, and she let out a relaxed little sigh.

Getting into any relationship—let alone a magically permanent one fated due to lycanthropy—had certainly not been in the cards when she, Harry, and Draco concocted this last ditch effort emergency plan should all else fail. Granted, she did recall Draco mentioning more than once that she would likely have better luck finding a man in the past, since everyone in their timeline was aware of how bossy and irritating she could be. Still, as unexpected as Remus's new place was in her life, she felt like she had hope back in her heart again—something she had almost given up on at least once or twice after Hogwarts fell.

She moved as quietly and slowly as possible as she pried herself from Remus's grip, finding her pyjamas in a wrinkled bundle beneath the duvet at the foot of the bed. One of the legs of her bottoms was twisted up in the sheet, and she spent a frustrating minute desperately trying to untangle it without screaming. She knew she could do it with magic, but she still did not have a wand, and using Remus's was something she did not want becoming a habit.

Once dressed, she slipped silently from the room, gently closing the door behind her so as not to wake her mate. Turning around, she covered her mouth to prevent the startled squawk from escaping too loudly when she almost ran into James Potter, who looked to be camped outside her room.

"Morning," he said with a mischievous grin that made her insides squirm a little the same way that Fred and George used to make her feel.

"Good morning," Hermione nearly whispered as she adjusted her top, knowing that she likely looked more dishevelled than merely sleeping permitted. "Where's Harry?"

"Having breakfast," James said, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back against the hall cupboard. "Lily makes a wicked full English. Normally we're just a beans and toast kind of family, but she's used to keeping some sausages on hand for when Remus shows up. Figured with the full moon just past, he'd be pretty hungry. You get to eat while you were . . . wherever you were?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Didn't have the stomach for it, honestly."

"We'll fatten you right up," he said cheerily, pushing off of the wall and skipping toward the small staircase. "Come on down and fill up a plate."

Sighing in relief, especially since her stomach seemed to speak English and had woken at the mention of sausages, she took a step to follow behind Harry's father. "Do you think I should wake Remus?"

James pivoted on one heel, turning with the grace of an athlete that never quite lost the muscle memory of balance. He grinned up at her. "Nah," he said with a daring expression. "We'll save him some. I'm sure Professor Lupin worked up quite the appetite."

She felt all the blood drain from her face at his words, and her eyes widened. She turned her gaze to the foot of the stairs and saw a small hint of black hair sticking out from behind a wall. "You son of a bitch," she muttered under her breath. Harry must have heard her, because the hint of black hair vanished from sight.

Looking elated, James stepped into her eyeline. "Hey now, that's my wife you're besmirching."

Stiffly, she followed the elder Potter down the stairs to the floor level of the cottage and into the kitchen where Lily had, indeed, set out quite the spread. The redhead turned and smiled as Hermione entered. She looked overjoyed as she pushed eggs onto a plate in front of a chair that Harry darted into.

"Wash your hands?"

Harry glanced up at his mother before clearing his throat and glancing at Hermione, looking guilty. "Yes, ma'am," he said as he picked up a fork and speared a tomato with the end of it. Keeping eye contact with Hermione as she slowly approached him, he reached his free hand out to the seat next to him and removed the fork and knife from the place setting—as though he expected Hermione to stab him with either—leaving behind only a spoon.

Hermione lifted a threatening eyebrow at him.

Harry slowly removed the spoon as well.

"Did you sleep well?" Lily asked politely, moving to stand in the space between where Hermione sat beside Harry. "I would have let you both sleep all day, God knows you could probably use the rest, but James insisted on fetching you. Was Remus up yet?"

Clearing her throat and resolving not to castrate her best friend in front of his mother, Hermione smiled. "I slept very well, thank you. And no, Remus was still sleeping."

"He'll do that," Lily said with a sigh. "Used to sleep in a lot when we were at Hogwarts. I imagine he was worn out from the—"

"Transformations," Hermione muttered, tucking the arm where she had been bitten against her side automatically.

From around his mother, Harry reached for Hermione's hand. Lily stepped back to allow him to get closer, and Hermione looked into the eyes of her best friend. "Don't pity me, Harry."

"I don't. I won't," he promised, though he had an unsure look in his eyes. "We'll figure it out. You're not alone in this."

Lily cleared her throat, and Hermione caught the redhead mouthing "say something" to her husband. James, looking eager to split the suddenly morose tension in the room, smiled and said, "Exactly. She's got Professor Moony."

"Ow, ow, ow," Harry quietly winced under his breath when Hermione pinched the skin between his thumb and index finger. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it just slipped out."

"Any chance that you're going to forget about this?" she asked James, not bothering to let Harry go just yet.

James grinned, his arms folded across his chest defiantly with a confidence that Harry only ever displayed in battle or on a broom. "And miss taking the piss out of Moony? Not a chance."

"Who's taking the piss?" Remus grunted as he tiredly walked into the room, heading straight for the cooker and plucking a sausage from the skillet. The only indication that the meat was too hot as he tossed it into his mouth, was the way that one of his eyelids squinted for a split second.

Lily swatted at Remus, shooing him away from the cooker and thrusting an empty plate at him. "Don't just eat from the skillet, Remus. God knows where your hands have been."

James laughed, and Harry let out a yelp when Hermione pinched him harder. Struggling, he escaped her grip and scooted his chair another foot away from her reach.

"That's not what I meant, Potter," Lily said, pointing a finger at James.

Remus raised a brow. "Did I miss something?"

"No," Harry blurted out.

Hermione cleared her throat, sat up straight, and offered the chair beside her to Remus. "How did you sleep?"

"Shouldn't you raise your hand before asking a question?" James asked with a delighted smile. When Hermione glared at him, he held his hands up in supplication. "You might as well get used to it. When Sirius shows up, it'll be about a million times worse."

She was not sure how she knew, because Remus made no outward sign of distress, but she could feel the sudden tension flowing off of his skin a full minute before he quietly cleared his throat and asked, "Sirius is coming home?"

Hermione and Harry shared a curious look while Lily pinned James with one of her own that Hermione caught the end of. Leaning across the table on his forearms with his head low as though he had a secret to share, Harry said, "You know he's loyal. Right? Sirius isn't the spy. He'll do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe."

Without looking at him, Remus picked up his fork and began eating. After swallowing his first bite, he said, "Depends on your definition of loyalty, I suppose."

"Moony," James said with a hint of warning in his voice.

"You know what happened when we last saw one another."

"Remus," Lily interjected, "Sirius was . . . It was a bad time. We'd just gone into hiding, and he was worried about Harry."

"Plus, you weren't being very forthcoming about your activities," James added.

"Spy," Remus said with a bite. "Kind of defeats the purpose of keeping your objective a secret if you tell your mates every last detail."

"You didn't share any details, Moons."

Remus scooted back from the table and looked up at James incredulously. "And that gave him the right to accuse me of . . . To say what he said to me? After years of friendship and everything we've been through?"

"Of course not," James replied with a softened expression. "But you know how he is. Sirius doesn't think that about you. But . . . there were rumours about the werewolf packs, and you were gone. Greyback's name showed up in the _Prophet_ after a small village was—"

"James." Lily grabbed his arm and shook her head. "We know you're not like the werewolves we've read about, Remus. Sirius knows that too."

Hermione sent a pleading look at Harry, silently asking for help. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head toward Remus. Understanding, she took Remus's free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Almost immediately, his stiff posture relaxed a touch, and he let out a slow exhale.

Looking up again, Remus made eye contact with James. "It's not just me. There are other werewolves who aren't like Greyback. And some who don't even know that there's another option. It's not fair to think that I'm special."

"You are fucking special," James said with a furrowed brow. "You're ours."

"You know what I mean, Prongs."

"Sirius will be fine. When he gets here, we'll all sit down and talk this out," Lily said calmly as she walked back to the cooker to grab the skillet. Moving to Remus's side, she placed more sausages on his plate with an expression that brokered no argument. She stayed right where she was until Remus stabbed one of the sausages with his fork.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked back at Harry, offering him an uncomfortable smile. Thinking of how he had told her once about how Professor Lupin used to talk about the dangers that Sirius Black posed him prior to the discovery about Wormtail, she chuckled. "Third year?"

Harry, catching her meaning, smiled and nodded.

They finished eating breakfast in relative silence. Lily and James discussed plans for the day that involved a schedule that they apparently kept little Harry on. Hermione talked with them both about the eroded wards on the house and how best to tackle the project without alerting anyone monitoring the wards that they were being tampered with. It would take some special rune work, but Lily insisted that she kept a decent collection of books in the basement, and the answer must be in one of them. Harry and James talked about creating emergency Portkeys as backup security measures, something Remus vehemently agreed with.

As they all stood to go on with their day, James clapped Remus on the shoulder. "It'll all be great, Moony. We'll all be together again like we're meant to be."

Remus nodded, not looking convinced. "Just so we're clear, if Sirius says anything about Hermione, I'm going to throw him through that wall."

Shocked by the calm tone and genuine look on his face, Hermione's mouth fell open. She hoped that her expression showed horror and incredulity and not the smallest, tiniest, faintest hint of being turned on.

"You'd better not," Lily said, flicking Remus's ear as she passed him. "I just painted that bloody wall."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

 **July 20th, 1981**

Remus stood guard in the front garden while Lily and Hermione worked on the eroded wards. The witches spoke to one another with a speed that made both Harry and James cross-eyed, but Remus could follow along to a point. He rather enjoyed Ancient Runes back at Hogwarts, though Lily earning higher marks than him still rankled a bit. It seemed that Hermione was equally as brilliant, if not more so judging by the look of frustration on Lily's face.

Swearing at himself for getting distracted, he returned his attention to keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble.

James and Harry had both expressed concerns about Death Eaters, and while Hermione might not have said as much, she had hinted toward her concerns about Greyback and others that may somehow be tracking them. It did not take a genius for anyone who knew him well to figure that Remus would seek refuge with the Potters. Remus knew, however, that the wards Dumbledore erected around the cottage would deter his kind. He was only immune because James had added a few drops of his blood to the cornerstone used to anchor the spell. Dumbledore had insisted that the remaining spells added would keep James, Lily, and Harry protected from Voldemort until a better plan could be made. Remus knew he was thinking of a Fidelius Charm, and he said as much when Harry and Hermione were discussing safety measures to be taken. The identical expressions of conflict and hesitation his suggestion was met with had put him on edge. He knew they were keeping secrets, or at least waiting until the right time to tell them, but it was nerve-wracking to be out of the loop in the face of so many unknowns.

"The magic isn't even frayed," Lily muttered irritably. "I don't understand. It looks like a clean split right there. Not like it was purposely done—we would see punctures from the outside rather than the inside. It just looks . . . sloppy." She stood up and put her hands on her hips, blowing a strand of hair from her face as she re-cast a charm that allowed the wards to become visible.

The ethereal flow of magic around the house moved with a pulse as though it were alive. It had no distinct colour, but the subtle glow of it made Remus feel like they were in a snowglobe, but with the glitter-infused water acting as the glass instead.

"Hermione, Dumbledore set these wards himself," Lily whispered. "Is . . . ? Harry didn't want us to contact Dumbledore. Can you tell us why? Should we be afraid of him? He never struck me as . . . evil."

Remus turned his head, staring at his friend with his jaw hanging open in shock. She caught the look and frowned. "Dumbledore is not Voldemort."

Hermione stood up and dusted her hands off on her jeans. "I can't say much without revealing things that Harry says he's not ready to talk about. He's not evil, he's just . . . Negligent is the best word I can think of."

"Because he let a werewolf into Hogwarts?" Remus asked before thinking.

With a look of horror, Hermione approached him. "No," she said, taking his free hand with both of hers. "Allowing you to attend school was a kindness. One I honestly feel that was a great advantage to him in the years that followed."

"I don't understand."

Lily scoffed, tucking her wand away after cancelling the charm and hiding the wards once again. "She's saying that Dumbledore probably knew you'd feel indebted to him, you numpty."

A glance at his mate confirmed Lily's words, and Remus shook his head. "Dumbledore knows what he's doing. He . . . He has to."

"He's not our only option for safety, Remus," Hermione muttered and then walked into the house, Lily following close behind.

* * *

Hermione watched carefully as Remus's anger steadily grew. He was not the exhausted and grief-stricken professor she had once known, that was for certain. He had already lived a long life, that much was obvious, but there was a fire inside of him and a hope that was palpable in this younger version of the man she had known before. Professor Lupin had always seemed sad, even when he smiled. Remus—her Remus, a whispering voice in the back of her mind reminded her—was a happy person who was filled with fear and anger at the idea of those closest to him being taken away.

She knew, thanks in part to private conversations with Lily, that his mother died when they were still at Hogwarts, and his father lived somewhere in the south of Wales, but the two were not very close. Most of the distance between them seemed to be because Remus did not want to be the cause of anyone being hurt due to their association with him. Most of his friends were either in the Order or the werewolf pack that they had abandoned, and therefore already in danger on their own. Hermione felt guilty about that, and she prayed that none of Remus's friends would be punished by Greyback over the incident.

"I don't understand," Remus seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The only way to supposedly break through a Fidelius Charm is through the Secret Keeper. We all know who James and Lily would choose if it came down to that."

"The Fidelius won't work," Harry repeated, leaving out the details.

"You can trust Sirius," Hermione said, already knowing what Remus was thinking. "Stop it."

He shook his head, his gaze landing on James who looked tired. "I _want_ to trust him. I do. But nothing makes sense."

"I'm going to go check on Harry and Lils." James groaned a bit as he stood. He had spent the better part of the evening on the floor playing with little Harry and a container of blocks. "Have a glass of firewhisky, mate," he said, patting Remus on the shoulder. "We'll get it sorted. I promise."

Harry stood, looking like he was going to go in search of said firewhisky, but he instead followed after his father up the stairs.

"You have little reason to trust us with what we know," Hermione said, feeling heartbroken that she could not just tell him the whole truth. They had promised to be honest with one another, but there was a time and a place. "But if you can feel the same magic that I do, then I hope you can use that to understand how I feel about the situation. I would let myself die or worse before letting harm come to Harry and his family."

Without saying a word, Remus took her hand in his. She thought he meant to hold it, but instead, he pushed up the sleeve of her blouse, revealing the scar on her forearm. She had long ago learnt to ignore it, but she understood that it would take time for others to do the same. She was glad that Lily had yet to see it.

"Or worse," Remus said quietly after a few minutes of silence. "How bad did this hurt?"

"Not as bad at the Cruciatus that came before it," she said bluntly, feeling only slightly bad when he stared at her in shock. "I'm a tough girl, Remus. I'm a survivor."

"I don't want you to be in pain."

She smiled softly, moving closer to his side. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

His fingers edged higher on her arm, just touching the bottom of her bite wound, and Hermione suddenly understood his true meaning.

She swallowed, not wanting to think about the fact that she was now a werewolf. Other than the change in her magic and a few other oddities, she still felt the same. She imagined that would all change once the full moon began to make its monthly appearance. She had seen Professor Lupin shift once when she was fourteen. She did not want to admit that she was afraid of the same thing happening to her.

A crack of Apparition broke the tension between them, and Remus was suddenly alert and standing with his wand out.

Hermione's eyes widened at his speed. She had not even seen him draw the bit of wood from his pocket.

He stared at the front door with an intensity that was almost frightening, though Hermione felt like she would have been doing the same had she a wand of her own. Despite wanting to be on the offence, she knew that she was unarmed and would only serve as a distraction should Remus think of her safety above his own. Instead, she made a dash for the stairs to alert James, Lily, and Harry.

She did not make it more than halfway up the staircase before the front door to the cottage opened. A visual of the intruder was blocked from her, and she took a single step back down the stairs on instinct, wanting to be at Remus's side. That was when she saw him clear as day.

"Where the fuck have you been, you arsehole?"

Sirius Black.

Two shots of light left each of their wands, and Hermione's eyes widened in fear as the bolts of magic collided in the centre, creating a blinding effect. When her vision returned, the men had cast aside wands in favour of fists and were rolling around on the living room floor like a couple of irrational teenagers.

Neither of them seemed that invested in actually hurting the other. Remus, due to supernatural strength, had the upper hand and was pinning a squirming Sirius to the carpet by his wrists. Sirius's jean-clad legs kicked around, and he even went so far as to buck his hips as a means to get Remus off of him. One sharp thrust must have actually hurt, because Remus let go of one of Sirius's wrists, and the man sent his freed fist right into the side of Remus's jaw.

Without thinking, Hermione let out a low growl and marched toward the scene, which was exactly the wrong thing to do.

Sirius and Remus might have temporarily hated one another in that moment, but they had been friends since they were children. Hell, Hermione had seen how thirteen years of thinking Sirius had been a murderer did not keep Remus from hugging the man the first chance he got once he understood his innocence.

But to Sirius Black— _this_ Sirius Black—Hermione was a stranger. A growling, stalking stranger, who was, for reasons unknown to him, in the supposedly-secured cottage of his best friends and infant godson, who were being hunted by the most dangerous wizard to ever exist.

Unsurprisingly, Sirius's grey eyes went horrifyingly dark, and he shifted into Padfoot in the blink of an eye and lunged at her, teeth bared.

The whispering voice in her head told her to attack, but Hermione was still a witch, and Padfoot was nearly the size of a bear. She let out a scream of fright and jumped backward, tripping over one of little Harry's blocks and colliding hard with the ground.

Before he could land on her and attack, Remus's long arm caught Padfoot around the middle. The dog let out a yelp of pain as the arm tightened. Using momentum, Remus spun around and let go, throwing Padfoot into the wall. The dog dropped with a loud thud, and the wall cracked right down the centre.

Two feet landed in front of Hermione, and she realised that Harry had jumped the railing of the staircase, likely as a result of hearing her scream. She could not see his face, but his stance was defensive, which caused Padfoot to take another running leap, snarling.

Harry, however, dropped his wand at the sight of the dog.

"Sirius! No!"

James leapt in front of Harry, taking the hit. He and the dog landed a foot beside Hermione, knocking into a table and sending photographs and a clay vase to the floor with a loud clatter.

Remus stalked toward them, deftly pushing Harry out of the way.

A stunner missed both man and dog, and in an instant, James shifted into a large stag, breaking a nearby window with an antler.

Accidentally kicked by a hoof, Padfoot crawled away and shifted back into human form, one hand holding his likely bruised ribs, the other holding his wand.

Hermione pulled herself up by using Harry's sleeve, and the movement caught Sirius's attention. He turned and growled at her. Automatically, she growled back.

Remus punched Sirius in the throat.

"Moony!"

Still heated, Remus—eyes glowing gold—turned on a now human James.

Harry stepped between them, putting a hand on each of their chests.

Sirius was coughing and holding his throat in pain as he slowly lowered to the ground. Petulantly, and likely because he had nothing left to do, he kicked a foot out, hitting Hermione in the shin and sending her back to the ground with a yelp.

" _Disiungo_!"

A pulse of magic hit the centre of the room like a rock dropped in a pond. A shockwave moved outward from the middle, a force of magic throwing everyone a good two feet backward. Sirius, James, and Harry all hit walls. Hermione was moved up against a cabinet. Remus was thrown into an open cupboard.

Lily stepped down into the aftermath, looking annoyed at the sound of pained groans and coughs. She glanced at the cracked wall and sighed heavily before turning her attention first to Harry. "Are you hurt?"

Wincing, Harry shook his head. "Just my pride."

"That'll heal," she muttered and then glanced to Hermione. "You all right?"

Hermione nodded. "I've had worse."

"Good. You both go upstairs and take some Pain-Relief Potions if you need them." She spun and pinned each Marauder with a stern look as she nonverbally summoned each of their wands into her hand. "You three clean up my bloody house the _Muggle_ way. And not a single word to each other the whole time, or I swear to God, I'll render you mute until Christmas."

* * *

Without their wands, the men winced and groaned through blooming bruises and aches as they cleaned up a disaster of a living room. James huddled himself in the corner, pretending to sweep up broken glass, but Remus knew he was thinking about Quidditch with the way his hand gripped the handle of the broom. Sirius was being surprisingly meticulous about rehanging photographs that had gotten knocked down. Remus kept glancing over his shoulder at him every few minutes. There was not much to be done about the broken window he was cleaning up—not without a wand at least.

"Stop looking at me, tosser."

Remus narrowed his eyes. "Just making sure I didn't break your pretty face."

Sirius threw a teasing smirk at him. "At least I'm still pretty."

"Pretty pain in my arse," Remus muttered under his breath.

"Anyone going to tell me who the fuck those two people upstairs with Lily and my godson are?" When Remus growled at him in response, Sirius snapped, "By anyone, I actually meant James. I'm not speaking to you, you fucking twat."

"Fuck you," Remus spat.

"Lily said we're not supposed to talk," James mumbled.

"I'm not afraid of her," Sirius said, but Remus caught him glancing around the corner to make sure Lily had not heard him say so. "And fuck you right back, Moony. Where the hell have you been?"

"Pads—"

Sirius held up a hand in James's direction, settling his full attention on Remus, who rolled his eyes and looked away. "I don't have to answer to you. You were a prick the last time we spoke. You insisted that I wasn't doing my part, and you implied that I—"

"You smelled different, Moony. You think I don't know what a fucking werewolf smells like, especially when it ain't you?"

"You implied," Remus shouted with a glare, "that I didn't even . . . even fucking . . . care . . ." Emotions broke his voice, and he angrily shook his head. "Fuck you. Just . . . This is my family too, you arsehole."

Sirius looked down. "Yeah well . . . you missed my birthday. Prick."

Remus _did_ feel bad about that.

They had spent every birthday together since they were eleven. Since that first birthday at Hogwarts when Sirius turned twelve and no presents arrived from home. He got a Howler right after the Sorting, but nothing came after that other than a short note from his younger brother sent by an owl Sirius did not recognise, meaning that it had been sneaked out. James had led the charge down to the kitchens where they bribed a Hufflepuff to tell them how to get in. They returned to the dorms with arms full of sweets and cakes courtesy of the house-elves and ate themselves so sick that both Sirius and Peter had to spend the night in the hospital wing after they threw up in McGonagall's class the following morning.

"Missed a lot of birthdays."

"Why?" Sirius asked. When James opened his mouth to speak, Sirius cut him off before he had the chance. "No. I want to know. I've spent fuck knows how long reading bits in the paper about werewolves on the move, my best friend—who is a werewolf—is nowhere to be seen and won't answer my fucking letters, and then just about the same time that _he_ goes missing, people in the Order start whispering about a potential spy."

"Don't." James's lips were pinched in a tight line, and his brows furrowed in obvious anger. "We don't mistrust one another. We disagree, we fight, and we get the hell over it. But we trust one another always. It's what we've always done. We're brothers."

"Bad habit," Sirius muttered. "Don't have much luck when it comes to brothers. They either end up dead or Death Eaters. Sometimes both."

"I am not a fucking Death Eater," Remus snapped.

"Then you were dead for all I knew!"

"You want to know, Pads? You really want to know?" Remus left his place by the window, storming across the room to stand face-to-face with his friend.

"Yes!"

"I was with fucking Greyback! Because you're right; I _am_ a spy! I'm just working for Dumbledore!" His fists clenched at his side began shaking with the urge to punch Sirius again. Or maybe to shake him. Maybe hug him. Remus was not too sure. "You happy? Arsehole."

The tension in Sirius's face dropped immediately. "Why would Dumbledore do that? He knows what Greyback . . . Fuck. That would be like sending me as a spy back to Grimmauld Place."

Remus took a step back and looked down. "Yeah."

Before anyone had a chance to say anything more, Remus let out an "oof" when Sirius launched at him, wrapping long arms around his back and pulling him in for a tight hug.

Sighing, Remus patted him on the back. "I missed you too, Pads."

* * *

"Did you see his face?"

Harry stared down at his feet, hanging off the foot of the bed. He could not bring himself to look at either Hermione or his mother, especially since she was holding the sleeping baby version of himself. It made him angry to think that the Sirius downstairs would have likely smiled and taken the baby in his arms, overjoyed to be reunited with his godson.

But Sirius had looked at _him_ like he was . . . Merlin, like he was a Death Eater.

"Guess I don't look _that_ much like my dad. Sirius didn't even recognise me. They all used to say I looked just like him. I thought—"

"He's not the Sirius you knew, Harry," Hermione said, putting an arm around his shoulders. "He's a very different man. Your parents were shocked and threatened at first too. You just need to give Sirius a chance."

He knew it made sense. Most things Hermione said always made sense, even if he did not always understand them. But it was _Sirius_. When Harry jumped downstairs after hearing Hermione scream, he had expected to find anyone there but Sirius.

Seeing Padfoot had made him feel stunned to the point where he could not move. When Sirius shifted back into human form and Harry got a really good look at him, he did not recognise the man. Harry had seen Sirius starved, crazed, in prison robes, on a murderous rampage, and in an alcoholic depression . . . but for the first time, Harry thought Sirius had looked dangerous. Truly dangerous. He was young and had years ahead of him instead of years behind him sucked away by dementors. Sirius was a fighter and was ready to kill or die for his godson.

And Harry was not his godson. Not really.

The realisation was like being kicked in the chest.

"He's always quick to jump to conclusions," Lily said. "But he'll love you, just like we do."

When his mother placed her hand against his face, Harry leant into it, trying to absorb her strength and love like a sponge.

The quiet moment was eventually broken by the sound of footsteps, and Harry looked up to see Sirius enter the room. James and Remus were just behind him. Sirius took a long look at Harry before awkwardly turning his full attention to the younger version. Like a knife to Harry's heart, Sirius's face softened, and he smiled widely, holding his hands out for the baby.

"Nope," Lily said, pulling away from him. "Not until you apologise. Also, is my living room fixed?"

"We need our wands, Lily," Remus said as he made his way into the room, placing himself between Hermione and Sirius. If he thought he was being sly about that, he had another thing coming, because Harry caught the annoyed expression on Hermione's face.

"I just want to hand him to James," Sirius said. "Because I'd like to have a little chat with you about your new guests."

"And you can't talk to _me_ about it?" James asked, looking perturbed.

"Nope," Sirius said. "She runs this house and usually most of your brain. Lily, please?"

With a raised brow and a resigned sigh, Lily shifted the sleeping baby into James's arms and pushed Sirius's shoulder. "Downstairs. Now."

Harry looked up at his father with pleading eyes, hoping for some scrap of information.

James cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know about the three of you, but I'm up for some eavesdropping."

Hermione and Remus elected to stay behind. Harry assumed it was because their weird mate bond made them want to check one another's injuries. He was glad to give them their privacy.

Once he and James settled into the still-destroyed living room, Harry flicked his wand to gather up any leftover pieces of broken glass. James smiled and sat down on the floor just as little Harry began to stir, reaching a hand out for a stuffed dragon.

Harry stayed quiet, concentrating his magic to nonverbally repair the damaged wall.

"Are you taking the piss, Lily? Have you just completely lost the plot?" Sirius said in the kitchen. "You've no idea who those people are! This is _just_ the type of thing that a Death Eater would think up to trick us."

"Is it not," Lily insisted, sounding annoyed. "Death Eaters aren't that smart. They're all inbred idiots like you. You think I didn't cast all the spells? Nevermind that he looks just like James unless you're completely blind. I made Harry take that paternity potion that I brewed. It worked on both me _and_ James."

"So you're both his dads then?" Sirius said sarcastically. "Ow! Fuck!"

James snickered quietly, which offered Harry a bit of relief.

"Watch your goddamned language, Sirius," Lily snarled, her soft accent dropping a little more East than Harry expected.

He knew, of course, that his mother and aunt grew up in Cokeworth just a bit down the way from where Snape lived, but Petunia had apparently learnt to adapt long before he could remember. For some reason, knowing that his mother had been a prefect and Head Girl had made Harry think of her along the same lines as Hermione. He was beginning to see his mistake in that.

"Watch your language, my arse. You called me a cunting twat basket two years ago."

Harry's eyes widened, and he looked at his father in shock. James did nothing to deny the accusation, instead gently holding his hands over little Harry's ears.

"That's because you wouldn't stop being a cunting little twat basket!"

Harry's mouth fell open. "Whoa."

Clearing his throat awkwardly, James began to softly sing to the baby, "Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool . . . ?"

"And in my defense, I'd just found out I was pregnant."

"It was _Christmas_ , you psycho!" Sirius said emphatically.

"I was hormonal and not in control of my emotions."

"Are you pregnant now then, you nutter? Don't you dare raise that— _Expelliarmus_!"

Harry took an awkward seat on the floor beside his father, fully expecting Sirius to be thrown through the newly-repaired wall any second. "So . . . has this cottage always been in the family?"

James looked up and smiled, albeit a bit uncomfortably. "What? Oh, yeah. Mum and Dad used it to get away when—"

"I see you eyeing that rolling pin, Evans. I'm not afraid to hit a girl."

"Give me back my wand, Black! It's that or the rolling pin! You decide which goes up your arse!"

"Always knew you liked holding a bit of wood. Ow!"

Shifting the baby onto his knee where he was happily playing with his stuffed animal, James looked at Harry and smiled. "Do you like curry? There's a great place round the corner. Nice little shop. They don't always deliver, but they make an exception because they like Lily."

From the kitchen, Sirius yelped in pain.

"Padfoot?" Baby Harry looked up excitedly.

"Padfoot's in trouble with Mummy," James whispered.

"Uh oh," little Harry said, bringing a chubby finger to his lips. "Shhh."

"That's right. No barking. Bad dog." James grinned, sharing a laugh with Harry, who was impressed with how his father remained so calm given the situation in the other room.

With a limp, Sirius slowly made his way into the living room, his eyes settling on James and the baby first before turning toward Harry. He cleared his throat and frowned, cringing when Lily shoulder-checked him as she made her way past.

"It has been brought to my attention," Sirius began, extending a hand of greeting to Harry, "that I might have overreacted."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

 **July 20th, 1981**

Hermione and Remus returned to the living room and found a calmer Sirius, to Hermione's relief. She had seen firsthand what Sirius Black was capable of when he was in a manic state, but this younger version of him had not endured twelve years of Azkaban and the scars that would come with it. She eyed him speculatively, trying to figure him out.

It was easy to see Remus in the man she had known before. While younger and more hopeful, Remus had intense eyes that looked calm, but only at first glance—like a gentle river just upstream from a dangerous waterfall. He bore the scars she remembered—though had yet to earn several she could recall.

Sirius, on the other hand, was very different. While he had never looked particularly healthy or stable in any sense, she now understood why those who had known him in his youth had been so horrified upon seeing him later in life after his escape from prison. Hermione struggled to choke back her emotions looking at him now as a young man and realising that the Sirius _she_ had known had been a shadow of his former self.

"Like what you see, love?" Sirius asked with a wink.

Unaware that she had been staring, Hermione flushed and tucked herself against Remus's side when she heard him growl low. Before either had a chance to reprimand the man, James shoved the side of Sirius's head and muttered, "Behave, Pads."

The two sat side-by-side on the sofa with Lily bracketing Sirius in the middle. Once baby Harry had been passed over to his godfather, Sirius had not bothered to communicate with anyone other than to occasionally make acknowledging grunts or incredulous snorts when Lily retold the story of how Harry and Hermione came to be inside Potter Cottage.

"You're not my type," Hermione finally said, steeling her nerves as she remembered what it used to feel like to face off against Sirius. As a child, she had been somewhat intimidated by the man—and only her worry for Harry and her defence of house-elves brought out the courage to get snippy with him. Now, at roughly the same age as he was, she did not feel held back by manners that had been drilled into her by her parents about respecting her elders.

Grey eyes sparkling with humour, Sirius looked back and forth between her and Remus. "I can see that. So what's this about then? Run off and get hitched while you were on holiday, Moony?"

Remus rolled his eyes and settled a warm hand on Hermione's lower back. "No. And this is none of your business. My relationship is hardly our most pressing concern at the moment."

"Just saying," Sirius muttered with a grin, "if I knew you had a thing for future girls, I would've nicked you a Time-Turner or two back in school." Before Remus could respond, Sirius had already cleverly switched gears. "So you've gone and figured out a way to do in old He-Who-Has-A-Stupid-Name? What are we waiting for then?"

"My—"

"There are _three_ of us who came to the past," Hermione said, cutting Harry off. "We need to get everyone together before we start making plans. You all still need to be briefed on the details, but our goal is to avoid as many casualties as possible this time."

She caught Harry staring at Sirius with a lost expression on his face. Sighing, she cleared her throat to get his attention. When he did not give it to her, but instead looked away, she frowned.

"Before we do anything, this one has to go back to bed." Lily reached for baby Harry, only to have Sirius pull him back.

"No, I'll do it. It's been forever and a half since I've put him to bed, Lils. Give a bloke a break." Shifting the sleepy baby in his arms tenderly, Sirius kissed the top of his head and stood, making his way toward the stairs.

Despite not being directly in Sirius's path, Harry moved away, arms folded across his chest.

Everyone noticed.

"Maybe I'll make some cocoa," Lily offered. "Anyone want a little firewhisky in it? Eh, I'll just bring the bottle."

Harry took her seat, awkwardly leaning on the arm of the sofa. James stared at him and cast a worried look at Hermione.

She tried to assure him with a soft smile, but she did not feel like her heart was in it. "I'll be right back. I left something upstairs." When Remus turned to follow her, she placed a hand on his chest. "No. It's fine. I'll be fine."

She found Sirius sitting in a rocking chair next to the crib in Lily and James's bedroom. The baby was already fast asleep.

"Got lost for a second," Sirius said, not looking up as she stepped into the doorway. "Harry hasn't slept with them since he was about six months old. At least, I think. Been gone for awhile."

"He loves you."

Turning his head slightly, Sirius made eye contact. "Moony? Nah. People suspected and spread some rumours, sure, but—"

"Harry."

As if the name had been a trigger, Sirius glanced at the crib.

" _My_ Harry. The one downstairs. He loves you. You were . . . Sirius, Harry did not have a good life, and that was even _before_ every waking moment was filled with thoughts of war. But, for a time, he had _you_. And you were everything. You were hope for a life and a family that he had never known before. You were this . . . magical thing that came out of nowhere and connected him to his parents in a way that no one else had been able to. You connected him to his family and to his magic. Speaking as a Muggle-born, that's a gift. Harry, for the first time, wasn't just some name that people whispered about. He was someone's child. He belonged to someone. He belonged to _you_."

She watched as her words hit him, hoping that they would not smack up against a wall but instead penetrate what she knew to be a hard skull. Sirius's emotions always seemed to run high, but she had never figured out whether it was a side effect from prolonged dementor exposure or simply just a facet of his personality. Something she said must have resonated with him though, as his brow pinched and the corners of his mouth turned down.

"I don't know him. He's a grown man. For fuck's sake, he looks the same age as . . . I didn't ask for this."

"He's your godson," she whispered as she stepped fully into the room, glancing over the railing of the crib to see the baby sucking on his thumb. "He's Harry."

"He ended up having a shit life. I've clearly failed him as godfather."

"When we first got the Time-Turners, he wanted to save you."

Sirius looked up, eyes slightly widened. "What do you mean?"

"You. You first. He didn't think immediately about the friends that we had lost or the countless innocents that had been murdered by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He held his Time-Turner and said, 'I can save Sirius now.'"

She remembered sharing a panicked look with Draco because they knew how far the devices could go back without vanishing them, and saving Sirius alone would throw them back into the beginning of _their_ war. No, they would have to travel in small increments only. If all else failed, their travel would have to span decades in order to save everyone, not just the few years it would take to save one man.

"Before he thought about saving the world, saving his friends, even saving his _parents_. . . Harry Potter wanted to save you. So please, Sirius, I know you don't know me, and you have trust issues. I've met many members of your family, so I'm well-versed in the reasons for why you are the way you are."

He stared at her as though he were trying to contemplate whether or not that was an insult.

"Give him a chance."

They walked back down the stairs together. Lily had a tray with cups of cocoa sitting on the coffee table next to a bowl of marshmallows and a bottle of firewhisky. Remus and James were taking turns throwing said marshmallows into one another's mouths while Lily and Harry quietly chuckled at them.

At the foot of the stairs, Hermione and Sirius drew everyone's attention.

Remus sat up. "Everything all right?"

"Lad went down quick," Sirius said, clearing his throat before he crossed the room and snatched the bottle of firewhisky from the table, agilely moving two steps back when Lily squawked at him and made to grab it. "Too slow, Evans."

She rolled her eyes and fell back against the sofa, kicking her feet up on James's lap and smiling when Hermione moved to the loveseat to snuggle in next to Remus.

"Come on then," Sirius said, gesturing for Harry to stand up. "If I'm going to be your godfather, I'm going to give you your first drink."

Harry stood, looking hopeful as a grin slowly overtook him. "But I've already—"

"Don't argue," Sirius insisted, putting an arm around Harry's shoulders as he led him toward the kitchen. "We'll _pretend_ it's your first if it's not. Someone has to teach you how to properly savour firewhisky. Merlin knows your mother is a lush, but Prongs is a lightweight, and he giggles when he's pissed."

* * *

 **July 21st, 1981**

Harry was not sure what Hermione had said to Sirius, but he was grateful that she had. Long after his mother, Remus, and Hermione had all retired to bed, Harry and Sirius—later joined in by his father—stayed up most of the night sipping firewhisky and sharing stories about Hogwarts.

Some of the stories he had already heard back when he was just a fourth or fifth year, swapping letters with Sirius or just trying to take advantage of what little time the holidays offered. Others were brand new, refreshing and updating Harry's previous perceptions of his godfather and parents.

He learnt how his father, despite being known for his prankster ways, took over Remus's prefect duties in fifth year when the full moon nights—and recovery—became a problem.

Harry had always suspected that Sirius wanted to be an Auror with the way he often talked about Dark wizards, but apparently while at Hogwarts, Sirius dreamt of convincing Aberforth to sell him the Hog's Head so that he could spend his days mingling with people and be able to see Hogwarts from his bedroom window.

The biggest shocker had come when Harry discovered that not only had his father _not_ been smitten with his mother since first year, she and _Sirius_ had actually dated prior to James "pulling his head from his arse." While Harry did not want to reveal too much about what he already knew from what he had seen in Snape's memories, he figured he could place the fight by the lake sometime after his mother and Sirius's short-lived relationship ended and his father's interest in her became more genuine and less of a pestering nature.

While some revelations were awkward or a bit troubling, Harry was grateful to finally be able to see the more human side of his parents, rather than the sensationalised stories that others had told him. They were far from perfect angels, which is what he had come to believe after hearing nothing but good about them from everyone—except, of course, from Snape.

Despite being the last to go to bed, the three men were up at dawn, smiling over cups of coffee.

Apparently, Harry's parents took turns cooking, so James set to work in front of the cupboards, pulling down ingredients for what looked like scones. Harry offered to help but was brushed off.

Sirius snickered under his breath and mentioned that, thanks to Lily's pickiness when it came to brewing, James would get flustered when putting together any recipe unless he was left to his own devices.

"Is that baking powder or bicarbonate?" Lily asked as she entered the kitchen with a freshly woken child in her arms.

James flicked a bit of flour in her hair and muttered, "Bugger off."

Sirius choked on a mouthful of coffee when Harry burst out laughing.

"They're not going to rise if—" Lily began saying, but James turned and stuck a dollop of wet dough in her mouth to stop her from talking. Gagging and spitting it in the bin, she hissed, "You're so disgusting. Prat." Despite being annoyed, she turned her cheek for a kiss, and James smiled affectionately at her, bestowing a peck to the apple of her cheek and then to the top of little Harry's head.

When Hermione and Remus arrived together a while later—thankfully looking a little less dishevelled than the previous morning, as far as Harry was concerned—the table was magically expanded to seat everyone. Savouring his breakfast, Harry also feasted on the happiness he felt around the table. Only one thing would make it better, and that made his mood drop quite suddenly.

"He'll come to us," Hermione whispered, clearly aware of where Harry's mind had gone. "We have to trust what he said in the Patronus. You know if we go in charging, it could just put him in danger."

The thought of storming Hogwarts in search of Draco had popped into Harry's thoughts, if he were being honest with himself. The idea that Draco could be in danger made his stomach feel like he had swallowed Draught of Living Death but was somehow still awake through its effects.

"We have to wait for him to show up or contact us."

Harry nodded and squeezed Hermione's hand in thanks.

"Talking about your mate, are you?" Sirius asked, wiping his mouth on his napkin to rid his short beard of any crumbs. "When's he due?"

Shaking his head, Harry shrugged. "Not sure."

"Is there anything we can do?" Lily asked, looking concerned.

"No," Hermione said. "We just have to wait for him to come here."

"Speaking of missing people," Sirius said as he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, looking eager to change the subject in order to lighten the mood, "where's Wormtail?"

Unable to stop himself, Harry stiffened at the name.

Since his arrival, his parents had only ever referred to Peter Pettigrew by his actual name. Hearing the nickname bestowed upon the man by his friends caused Harry to hear it in his memories—but instead of spoken kindly from a friend, Harry heard it in Voldemort's high-pitched voice.

A flash of a memory entered his mind followed by " _Kill the spare._ " Harry remembered the pain of Pettigrew cutting into his arm, and he jerked violently away from Sirius on instinct, covering the arm where he still bore the scar from that night in Little Hangleton.

"What's wrong?" James demanded, looking at Hermione with worried eyes.

Gently placing her hand on top of Harry's clenched fist, Hermione whispered, "We have to tell them."

Slowly nodding, Harry slipped his hand beneath the table to reach into his pocket. Removing his wand, he kept as relaxed as possible so as not to frighten anyone. With a simple flick, the dishes began to pile up and float toward the sink.

"Maybe it's time for little Harry to have a kip?" Hermione suggested.

Lily furrowed her brows surely thinking that it was too soon and little Harry would likely make a fuss, but she cast a glance between Harry and James and then nodded her head. "All right. I'll come right back down."

The moment Harry could hear his mother's footsteps through the floor above his head, he flicked his wand at Sirius and cast, " _Incarcerous_!"

James jumped up from his chair and drew his wand. However, not wanting to aim it at his own son, let it point _between_ Harry and Sirius instead. "Harry!"

"What the fuck?" Sirius snapped, trying to move from the ropes that magically appeared from the end of Harry's wand, binding him tightly.

Hermione stood, looking only mildly sympathetic. "Don't fight it or he'll be forced to stun you."

Remus looked panicked as though he was not sure whose side to be on. "What's going on? You said we could trust him."

"We can trust Sirius with our lives," Harry muttered, feeling absolutely horrible for needing to bind his godfather. "Unfortunately, he's proven on _multiple_ occasions that he can't be trusted with his own."

"Lock down all the wards," Hermione told Lily when she entered, staring at a bound Sirius with wide green eyes. "We're not under attack, but we have things to say, and you're not going to like them. The last time Sirius found out about the information we're about to tell you, innocent people died, and he ended up being framed for their murders."

Sirius stopped struggling, his face growing pale as he turned his attention to Hermione. "I'm not—Who framed me?"

Instead of answering his question, Harry said, "You were in Azkaban for twelve years."

In shock and horror over the reveal, James dropped his wand and fell into the seat beside Sirius. He put an arm around his best friend's shoulders as though someone was threatening to take Sirius away to Azkaban right then and he was ready to hold on tight and keep him there.

Remus moved to stand protectively behind them both, his wand gripped tightly in hand.

"Azkaban," Sirius muttered, looking like a sliver of the man Harry had known—scared, broken, lost. "I won't fight. I'll . . . I'll stay where I am."

Lily turned her attention on Harry and asked the question she and the three Marauders were clearly all thinking, "Where's Peter?"

* * *

Sirius had broken his promise when they told him.

Harry's Incarcerous Spell, however, was top notch.

The man fought like hell and even shifted into Padfoot in an attempt to break the ropes. All that had done was dislocate his shoulder and eventually exhaust him. Once Sirius was unconscious due to magical depletion and pain, Harry released the spell. Lily took over monitoring his health and security, casting a series of Healing Spells to fix his shoulder as well as charms to stop him from leaving the house in a fit.

James left the room silently and went upstairs. Worried, Harry followed after him.

Turning her focus away from Sirius and Lily—who was silently wiping angry tears from her cheeks—Hermione searched for Remus. She found him in the living room, sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. Settling in slowly beside him, she placed a hand on his leg and leant against his side, hoping to offer him what comfort she could.

"Are you certain?"

Slowly, she nodded. "He confessed right in front of us. He sounded half mad. But then, I suppose living as a rat for twelve or so years without reprieve could do that to a man. You and Sirius tried to kill him."

He looked up, his wet green eyes meeting her stare. "We _what_?"

"Harry stopped you. But . . . he got away." She refused to tell Remus the circumstances of Pettigrew's escape. "He found Voldemort and is the reason that the war started again. It was _almost_ peaceful for a time I suppose," she muttered, thinking of three-headed dogs, and trolls, and basilisks. "But once Pettigrew helped Voldemort return, we were at war. He almost killed Harry so . . . so many times. And Pettigrew . . . He murdered a schoolmate of ours. Just another boy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

It broke her heart to tell Remus, but she wanted to make certain that there was no question about whether or not Pettigrew could be trusted. He was a murderer. He killed twelve Muggles in order to frame Sirius. Harry saw with his own eyes that Pettigrew killed Cedric.

"He's our . . . He was my . . ."

"I'm so sorry, Remus. We didn't want to tell you, but you had to know. He has to be stopped, but we can't do it in a way that lets Voldemort know we're onto him. Which means that we need Pettigrew to keep thinking that he's getting away with this. You can't let him know that you suspect he's a Death Eater. It's why we didn't want James to owl both Sirius and Pettigrew."

"He won't go back to sleep," James muttered as he carried the baby back down the stairs, looking as though he had just given up a night of sleep due to a fussing child rather than someone who had just been delivered a blow to his life. Handing the baby to Lily as she stood up to meet him at the foot of the stairs, he said nothing more to anyone else as he side-stepped her to make his way into the kitchen.

Lily frowned, adjusted the baby on her hip, and looked up as Harry came down the stairs slowly.

"He was just sitting on the floor near the crib," he said quietly, casting a look of concern at Hermione. "Did we do the right thing?"

"Yes," Remus answered. "If we're going to fight, we need to know everything about our enemies. Including . . . Including who they are."

"I still can't believe it," Lily whispered, pressing her lips against her baby's forehead and sighing. She did not even make a fuss when his tiny hand clutched a fistful of her hair and yanked hard.

Breaking the silent tension, James walked back into the living room, picking up random objects as though he were cleaning. He was clearly trying to distract from the situation, however, as he ended up just placing things from one table onto a bookshelf, or from the bookshelf onto the window sill, keeping his hands busy. "I don't want to hear this."

Sirius stormed in behind him, still looking depleted. His face was still pale; he looked like he was recovering from the flu and was in strong need of a Pepper-Up Potion. "You need to think clearly, mate. He betrayed us. James, he got you and Lily killed!"

"Sirius!" Lily hissed, using a hand to gently cover little Harry's ears.

James spun around and pointed at Sirius. "No, he didn't. We're alive. That hasn't happened yet."

Harry stepped between his father and godfather, holding his hands out to James in supplication. "It will if we don't stop him."

James glanced around the room, staring at everyone as though he were the only sane person there. When even Remus turned his eyes downcast, he let out a sad, disbelieving laugh. "Where's the limit? If you had travelled back in time further than you had, how old would Peter need to be to be held accountable for things he hasn't yet done?"

"Dad—" Harry began, looking torn.

"Fifteen?" James asked. "When Peter had detention for a whole month after breaking the nose of a seventh year who called Sirius a blood-traitor? How about thirteen when he nearly killed himself trying to figure out how to become an Animagus so that Remus didn't have to be alone during the full moon? Did you even know that it was Peter's idea to begin with?"

Remus slumped forward, putting his head back in his hands, and Hermione sighed, rubbing his back. She felt for James, truly, she did. If someone told her that Ron or Ginny or Neville or even Luna would ever betray them . . . It was unthinkable. She had always trusted her friends with her life—with Harry's life. Though it had taken a while for them both to come around to the idea, even she and Draco had developed a close bond and trusting friendship. Regardless of the Dark Mark that was still permanently etched into the man's skin, Hermione would be devastated if he were to turn on her and Harry.

"How about when Peter was eleven? When he was scared of the dark and lonely because he didn't have any friends yet? Would you lot have smothered him in his pram as an infant?"

Lily tucked little Harry in closer to her chest even as he squirmed in her grip, awkwardly reaching out for Sirius.

Hermione's mouth fell open as though she meant to answer, but no words came out. She honestly did not know what she would have said.

Harry took his father by the shoulders, standing toe-to-toe with the man. They looked so similar, but in that moment, Harry looked _years_ older. He was aged by war and death and the horrors of abuse that he had grown up with. James Potter, for all that he had suffered in the past few years, was still a privileged man. Hermione saw that clearly as the mere idea that a friend would betray him, would get his family killed, rocked the very foundation of friendship and trust that James built his life on.

"Dad . . . I know how you feel, but Peter Pettigrew _is_ a Death Eater."

"Why?"

"What?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"If Peter's a Death Eater like they say," James said, turning to Sirius. "Why did he become one? No one just up and joins the Death Eaters for the hell of it. Peter's never before shown any signs that he believes in the tripe that Voldemort preaches about blood prejudice. Sirius, Peter's godfather was a Muggle-born that was killed by Death Eaters. Peter loves Lily. So tell me. What was his reason?"

Sirius's mouth fell open, but he was left speechless.

Harry tried to continue, "Dad, he betrayed—"

"But _why_?"

Shrugging, Harry threw his hands up. "He was just . . . afraid. Afraid of Voldemort."

Hermione nodded silently, remembering the look on Pettigrew's face when Sirius and Remus confronted him in the Shrieking Shack. He looked haggard. He looked broken and insane. He looked terrified. From what Ron and Harry later told her about everything that happened at Malfoy Manor, Peter Pettigrew _died_ afraid.

"We're all afraid of Voldemort," Lily whispered thoughtfully as she cradled her small son to her chest. The shouting and tension in the room was likely palpable to even the little boy, who began to fuss whenever James spoke. "Why Peter? Why was Peter singled out?"

Sirius stared at her with a look of disbelief. "Lily, not you too."

"He's your friend as well," she said defensively. "Sirius, he was at our wedding. He looks after Harry when you're not here. I'm not saying I want him around knowing what he has or will do, but I am saying that I agree with James. We need to know _why_. If Voldemort got to Peter, he could get to _any_ of us. He's already tried with James and me on three separate occasions. Not everyone has always had backup, and we can't _all_ fight the Imperius Curse."

James let out a sigh of relief.

Sirius threw his hands up in frustration as he walked away, shouting, "This is bollocks!"

"Get over it," James said tersely.

"Why?" Sirius yelled.

"Because if Harry had shown up and told me that it was _you_ who betrayed me, I would be giving you the same chance to explain yourself."

Looking horrified and offended and just a little bit sick, Sirius choked out, "I would _never_ —"

"And until this moment," James cut him off in a tone of finality, "I thought the same of Peter."

"What do you want us to do, Prongs?" Remus quietly asked from the sofa.

Hermione pulled her hand away, honestly shocked that they were considering anything but believing Peter to be the traitor that she and Harry knew him to be. She shared a look with her best friend, who wore an expression of guilt and worry. Worse than that, he looked doubtful.

"Harry?"

"I don't know, Hermione. He wouldn't be the first to . . ." Harry trailed off, and Hermione knew he was thinking of Snape and Draco, men who were Death Eaters and had turned away from their Dark Marks to fight on the right side of the war. Hell, even Lucius Malfoy did the right thing in the end, and it had cost the man his life.

"That's different," she said. "We don't know that Pettigrew would—"

"Maybe Dad's right. Maybe that's just it. What if we don't know?"

James and Lily both looked relieved but concerned. Sirius looked like he was ready to start throwing things. Hermione glanced at Remus, whose lips were pinched tight as he anxiously picked at one of the scars on his arm—a nervous habit, she figured.

She thought of Peter Pettigrew and the way he had begged for his life—for _her_ help—in the Shrieking Shack before vanishing and leaving them all at the mercy of a fully transformed Moony. She felt the growing sound of her own wolf in the back of her mind. Her magic reacted on instinct, making her want to reach out for Remus, but it also turned her protectively toward Harry—both the young and the older—and a deep anger welled inside of her chest, preceded by a growl.

"Contact him, brew Veritaserum, and get him here," she said as she stood, needing to move in order to redistribute the agitated magic in her veins. "We'll question him and get the truth no matter what. But . . ." She sent a look at James first. "If he draws his wand on _any_ of you, I'll kill him myself."

Looking torn, James nodded.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** So I have my little brother in from out of town for the rest of the month, which means my schedule is going to be unpredictable. We're going on a trip this weekend, so I won't be around to post an update. That means you get an early update! Keep in mind, this also means that you won't get another one until the following weekend (29th or 30th). For that, I apologise. Also, I am VERY well aware of the Potter family canon, but I have been using Dorea and Charlus as James's parents since I started writing, and I just prefer them. However, I wanted to give a little nod to new canon in this chapter. Lastly, this chapter is for **ashenrenee**. She'll know why. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

* * *

 **July 20th, 1981**

Remus watched Hermione sleep, unable to find rest himself.

Between all of the arguments they'd had since joining the Order mixed with a healthy dose of worry, suspicion, and Greyback's usual bullshit, Remus had all but been on his way to genuinely thinking that Sirius had been the danger lurking in the shadows. It made sense to anyone who did not bother to look twice. Remus should have looked twice.

Peter, though.

It did not make one bit of sense.

That was, until he, James, and Sirius sat down and confirmed timelines with one another over things that had happened over the past few years. One week before Remus had been set to leave for the packs, there had been an ambush. James and Lily were taken, and Sirius and Peter had been paired to rescue them with the Prewett brothers. Sirius and Peter were missing for over a week, days after Gideon and Fabian got James and Lily back safely with no more than a scratch on either and a failed attempt at an Imperius Curse on Lily. Voldemort had apparently thought it a worthy endeavour to attempt overpowering Lily in hopes of controlling James. Unlucky for him, either Lily was a dab hand at throwing off the Imperius or he needed to raise the bar a bit more when choosing Death Eaters—maybe require actual talent.

 _Peter_ was talented.

James and Sirius were more boastful about everything they did, and their names alone would draw attention even if their bravado did not. Remus, on the other hand, was more subdued, but he had prided himself on his talents at Hogwarts as a wizard. When he had brief interludes where he felt more man than monster, he actually took the time to enjoy a bit of an ego that came from his efforts. Peter, while shyer than the others and not as naturally talented as James and Sirius, was a dab hand at Charms and Potions. Only his nerves ever really got the better of him, thus keeping him from outshining the rest of them. As much as Remus wanted to always think of Peter as the sweet, shy boy he remembered when they were children, Peter was a grown wizard who was accepted into the Order on his own merits.

Peter was _clever_.

Thinking too much about what that spelt for the future Remus sick to his stomach.

While James and Lily were reporting what happened after their capture to Dumbledore, Sirius and Peter had been separated. When they finally found one another again, having both escaped from separate rooms inside of an abandoned Muggle warehouse, Sirius was badly injured. Peter Side-Alonged him straight to St Mungo's, and the Order was so busy worrying about whether or not Sirius would recover, that they did not think twice about what Peter might have gone through during his time alone with Death Eaters.

Was he already a spy then? Had _he_ been the one to trap Sirius? To lead James and Lily to their possible doom? Or was Peter, like the others, a victim?

Hermione and Sirius seemed to be on one side of the table with James and a worried Lily on the other. Drifting around the middle was a conflicted Harry. Remus only knew that he wanted to protect his family. He just was not sure whether Peter still counted. He was not sure what would happen if Peter showed up with a Dark Mark on his arm.

He wanted to protect Hermione above all else. Smiling down as she slept, he felt a bit of relief in knowing that she was fairly adept at taking care of herself. Memories of how she had scratched, kicked, and bit at Greyback came to the forefront of his mind, turning his smile into a full grin and almost erasing the stress of the whole night.

Almost.

* * *

 **July 21st, 1981**

Harry tried to smile as he watched his mother steal the third cigarette that afternoon out of Sirius's mouth. The man had been trying to smoke since waking, but—especially after chatting with Hermione on the subject—Lily was having none of it. She went on a rant about the dangers of secondhand smoke and how now that she technically had _two_ sons, she would have to be on Sirius's case about his habit twice as much.

The morning was spent researching the complexities of wards and learning more about the decade that Harry had found himself in. At one point in the afternoon, Remus, Sirius, and James had wandered off. Harry decided to give them space, figuring that they were still reeling from being told about Peter Pettigrew.

Harry, himself, was more than concerned that his father could, perhaps, be right about Peter. If so, Harry wondered how he was supposed to feel. All he had ever felt for Pettigrew was disgust, anger, and pity. He watched the man die right in front of his eyes and was resolved in the fact that he would never have to look upon him again. But an owl left late the previous night in search of the fourth Marauder, and the sinking pit in his stomach had not let Harry forget it.

"I wonder if I should change my name," he said thoughtfully as he sat at the kitchen table with his mother, Hermione, and the younger version of himself who was currently trying to feed apple slices to a stuffed niffler.

"I love your name," Lily said with a frown. "It's a family name. My father's name was Harold, and James's grandfather was called Harry. His real name was Henry. I would hate for you to think that you need to change your name just because there's technically two of you."

"I could be a Henry," Harry suggested, smiling when his mother narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you think it would be weird and a little suspicious for there to be two Harry Potters in the world?"

"Maybe you could change your name to Roonil Wazlib," Hermione suggested cheekily, not bothering to look at him as she tried—and failed—to hide her smile behind the morning paper. "Wasn't that a nickname of yours once?"

"Rude," Harry muttered, amused.

Lily watched them with curious interest, smiling. She leant across the table and brushed Harry's hair from his forehead and then returned her attention to the younger version, prying bits of apple out of the stuffed niffler's pouch. "You are right, though. Especially if we don't want to draw unwanted attention to you. And we can't all stay stuffed up in this cottage forever. I might have an idea, actually. We can't trust the Ministry to work on our behalf, but I actually have a friend who works as an Unspeakable. She might be able to alter some records from within. We'll just say that you're . . . a Potter cousin or something."

"Who's a Potter cousin?" James asked with a furrowed brow as he walked into the kitchen, stopping to kiss the top of Lily's head. "I don't have any cousins, love."

"Not technically, no. But what about your aunt and uncle? The ones who died in America during the Dragon Pox outbreak."

"Fleamont? Never met him. He never had any kids that I know of. Went a bit off the grid once Sleekeazy's took off. Dad always said that Aunt Euphie had trouble with people trying to steal their money. Don't know why they thought moving to America would be any better. All that gold went into the family vaults or was dispersed to various charities when they died anyway. Why're you asking?"

"We need to set up some sort of background for Harry. We can't just announce to the world that he's from the future," Lily said.

Hermione's eyes were wide. "Your uncle invented Sleekeazy's?"

"You had an uncle named _Fleamont_?" Harry asked.

Ignoring them, Lily continued, "I was thinking a certain friend of mine could dig around in the records at the Ministry. We could say that Harry's parents were your aunt and uncle, and that he was just raised by some American family until recently or something."

"What friend?" James asked as he sat down, stealing an apple slice from little Harry's plate.

"You talking about Dora?"

Lily turned around in her chair to catch Sirius with an open bottle of orange juice in his hand. "Use a glass!"

He rolled his eyes, licking juice from his bottom lip even as he opened the nearest cupboard to pull out a glass. "How is she? You hear anything?"

"She's doing good, last I heard," Lily said with a smile. "I'm sure she'd _love_ to see you. So would—"

"Are you talking about Tonks?" Harry asked, confused. "You said Dora. Did you mean Nymphadora?"

Though he assumed she did not do it on purpose, he caught Hermione glancing at Remus. Trying not to draw anyone's attention, Harry gently patted her on the arm, hoping that she took comfort and assurance from the gesture.

Sirius choked on a mouthful of orange juice. "Nymphie? Hell no. Stop laughing, Prongs," he snapped at James, who was doing nothing to stifle the sudden chuckles that were coming in waves. Both Remus and Lily also looked amused. "Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware that my House has been known to dabble in a little family tree . . . grafting."

"Is that what you call marrying your own cousins?" Lily asked with a smirk.

"Shut your gob, Evans." Sirius looked at Harry. "Even _if_ Nymphadora wasn't seven years old—"

"Eight," Lily corrected.

"I do not have plans to seduce my own blood, thanks very much."

"Good to hear," Hermione quipped. "So who's Dora then?"

Smiling at Sirius for being so defensive and flustered, Lily replied, " _Pan_ dora Maestro. A Ravenclaw friend of mine from Hogwarts. Sirius is in love with her."

"Don't sully what we have with your simple Muggle words, Evans," Sirius said, dipping his fingers in the orange juice and flicking droplets at her. "What Pandora and I have transcends the weird domestic thing that you and Prongs have. Don't be offended. You can't help it. You're only mortal. Pandora, however, is a goddess."

Remus groaned. "If he starts writing sonnets again, I'm going to kick him. I barely made it through seventh year without smothering him to death with his own pillow."

Harry had never once heard about Sirius being in love with anyone, and at one point he had highly suspected that Sirius and Remus had something going on that they just never got around to telling him about. But Sirius was in love? _Had_ been in love? What happened to this Pandora when Sirius went to Azkaban? Was she just another in a long list of people who assumed the worst? Did she die in the war? Was that why Sirius never mentioned her? Not wanting to reveal that the love of Sirius's life might not have been around in the future, Harry shared a nervous look with Hermione before clearing his throat.

"I'm not familiar with the Maestro family."

"She's an only child," Lily said. "I think she has cousins in France somewhere, but she never talked about them. Do you not know . . . ?" She began to say, but Harry's eyes widened just a fraction, and Lily pinched her lips into a tight line.

"Not a Maestro anymore," Sirius commented as he sat down next to Harry. "Married woman and all."

"You have a wife?!" Harry blurted out in shock, losing all composure that he previously worked so hard on.

Sirius laughed, shaking his head, looking a tad deflated. "No. If I marry anyone, my wretched cousins would do their level best to hurt me through my spouse. I honestly didn't think I'd _ever_ have a family of my own. But then . . . well, Pandora got pregnant."

Harry's chest tightened at the word as he watched what little humour was left in Sirius's eyes give way to a sad longing.

"People knew we'd dated during our seventh year, so unless she was associated with someone else and quick about it, Death Eaters might've suspected she was having my baby. So she convinced another friend to marry her. He's never been much for girls. Or wizards, now that I think about it. Good bloke, though. I knew I could trust him with my family."

Hermione was squeezing Harry's hand tightly. He looked at her to see her eyes wide and her face pale.

She knew something.

But Harry wanted to hear more.

"Sirius, you have a family? I mean . . . you have a child?" He expected to feel jealous the same way that he had when Sirius had first arrived and attached himself straight away to little Harry, but that envy did not come. Instead, he was filled with a determination, now more than ever, to make sure that his godfather got through this war unscathed. Sirius had a family that needed him.

Smiling with equal parts pride and sadness, Sirius nodded. "Pretty little thing. I've only seen her twice since she was born. Death Eaters track me wherever I bloody go," he mumbled, his expression turning dark. "It's too much of a risk to let them think for a second that we pulled one over on them. Plus, Pandora's a half-blood. Bellatrix would be frothing at the mouth if she thought that Luna was my daughter. Thank Merlin that she looks just like Pandora except for her eyes."

Hermione's grip on his hand became painful, and Harry turned toward her. "Luna."

He tried to remember Luna smiling, dancing at Bill and Fleur's wedding, or affectionately feeding baby thestrals with no qualms about how terrifying they appeared. Harry did not want to remember getting word about Luna's death. It had sparked a minor dissension amongst Voldemort's ranks when two of Draco's friends had attacked their fellow Death Eaters after Luna was murdered by Rabastan Lestrange. The boys got themselves killed in the process—one had been tortured to death by his own father. Luna had a way with people—even Slytherins. Harry had not been surprised. It was almost impossible not to love her.

Hermione cleared her throat, pulling Harry from his thoughts, and shifted her attention to Sirius. "I'm so sorry that you can't be with them, Sirius. That's awful."

"It's safer for them," Sirius said, looking like he still regretted it. "One of my cousins was assaulted in Diagon Alley when she was pregnant, by her own sister no less, just because the kid had a Muggle-born for a father. They were fine, in the end. Aurors were just around the corner and got Andy to St Mungo's, but Bellatrix got away. And she loved her sister once. She's always hated me. Always. No, it's safer for Pandora and Luna if . . ." He let out a heavy sigh that sounded like relief and guilt mixed together. "You don't know my cousins."

"We do," Harry said, frowning.

Sirius looked up, meeting his stare. Harry did his best to not look at Hermione as he was prone to do whenever Bellatrix was mentioned. He did squeeze her hand gently, though.

"Is there _anything_ good about the future?" Sirius asked.

"Bellatrix is dead," Hermione offered.

Shocked, Sirius appeared to perk right up at the news. "Well, bless! Hear that, Prongsie? Tomorrow doesn't look so bleak after all."

Everyone but Hermione and Harry shared a soft, if somewhat uncomfortable, laugh. Then there was a loud chime from the Floo, and they were all on their feet with wands drawn as though Death Eaters had just descended on the house.

"For fuck's sake," Lily muttered in exasperation as she stowed her own wand back in her pocket. "It's just a fire-call. Everyone be quiet. If we're lucky it's just Hestia doing her weekly check in on us. She's a few days early, though."

As the others returned their wands to pockets and holsters, Harry kept his tight in his grip. He could count the number of times a fire-call meant something _good_ on one hand. He said nothing, following Hermione as she edged closer to the other room to listen in on the fire-call. While he could not tell to whom his mother was speaking, it was a woman, and she sounded angry.

Harry was relieved when Hermione cracked the door.

"—goddamned pieces of shit Death Eaters! We're getting ready to go now. All the Aurors were sent in first, as usual. Hestia wanted me to call and make sure that you lot were exactly where you need to be. I know you sometimes sneak about when you can. Last thing we need is you running into You-Know-Who and his rabid, tattooed _sheep_."

"We're fine, Marlene," Lily said. "God, please just be careful. You're sure that Dumbledore said . . . ? I mean, you're certain that the information is good?"

"What do you mean? Lils, is something going on? You look odd."

Harry looked at Hermione and his eyes widened in remembrance. "McKinnon?"

Sirius glanced up from the table. "Is that Marlene calling?"

"What's wrong?" James asked as he stood and made his way into the other room. "Marls? What's happening?"

"None of your business, Potter. Stay grounded. Just a little Death Eater kickup. Nothing we can't handle."

With a sudden realisation, Harry blurted, "Don't go!"

"Who's that? I thought you two were locked up. Did Black come back early?"

Sirius rushed into the other room, casting Harry a panicked look as he passed him. "Right here, McKinnon. You're not going anywhere. Stay where you are." He glanced back to Harry, who was shaking his head. "Or . . . not?"

"What the fuck are you on about?" Marlene snapped.

Sighing impatiently, Hermione took over. "Tell her to get her entire family away from wherever the Death Eaters are, but don't go home. Go somewhere unexpected. Another safe house. Is there any place that Pettigrew isn't aware of?"

"Marls, does your mum's family still have that place in the Cotswolds?" James asked. "No one in the Order's been there, right?"

"What happens to Marlene?" Remus asked Harry, suddenly standing behind Hermione with his hands on her shoulders.

Harry furrowed his brow. "I don't know. We don't exactly have a whole list of who lives and dies. I actually thought she would already . . . I thought my mum and dad were the only ones left to . . . you know."

The photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix was not the first picture of his parents, but it was the only one he had that showed who they really were as people. He had fun pictures of them with their friends, and the few from their wedding that Hagrid was able to track down, but the photo with the Order had told Harry that they were fighters—that they stood for something. He remembered everything about the moment when Mad-Eye had given him that photograph, including the people in it he said had died.

"I don't know if it's today, but her whole family is going to die. She needs to go into hiding, right now," Harry said firmly.

Remus did not wait for further information. He stepped into the room and pushed his way past the others to kneel in front of the fireplace.

"Remus?" Marlene asked in shock. "Where the hell have—?"

"Shut up. Is Hestia with you?"

"Don't tell me to . . . Yeah, she's in the other room. What's going on, Remus? Why are they—?"

"Get Hestia, now."

"Rem—"

"NOW!"

"Jesus Christ, fine!"

Harry let out a breath and turned to see that Hermione had left his side to pull the fussing baby from his highchair, shifting him to her hip. It was a strange thing to see. Had the current tension of the room been even slightly less, Harry might have laughed and made a joke about Hermione always mothering him. As it was, he could not even form the words as another voice shouted from the fireplace.

"Remus? Oh my God, we've been so worried!"

"Hestia, do you trust us?" Remus asked.

"With my life."

"Then grab Marlene and Disapparate to her parents' place in the Cotswolds. I know you've been there, but to my knowledge, no one else has. Get all of her family in that cottage and lock the place up. Run to ground. Don't tell a soul. We'll send word when it's safe."

"I . . . Okay," Hestia said anxiously. "And then what?"

"Then you'll come here," James said, meeting Harry's gaze. "But don't tell anyone. Not even . . . Not even Dumbledore. Only come out if you get a message from me, Lily, Sirius, or Remus." He looked pained to leave out Peter's name. "No one else. No one."

Harry could hear Marlene arguing in the background, but Hestia's voice was firm when she said, "I trust you. Consider it done."

The fire-call ended, leaving everyone in the living room looking shell shocked. Hermione and Harry joined them; Hermione observed each adult carefully, as though she were deciding which of them was the most stable for holding the baby—or which needed him the most. James took him without question, pressing his nose against the small head of black hair.

They had almost no time to relax or talk about what had just happened or where Death Eaters currently were or what details Harry knew about Marlene's hopefully averted death. A loud crack sounded from outside followed by the wards shaking. Someone, likely whoever Apparated into the garden, screamed in pain.

Harry felt like his chest was caving in at the sound, and he rushed to the front door, throwing it open without a thought at the same time as he drew his wand.

"Is that Peter?" Lily asked frantically behind him.

"Whoever it is, it's a Death Eater," Sirius growled, following after Harry.

The wards had turned dark from the inside, and there was someone trapped beneath a thick blanket of visible magic. Harry reached out to touch it, but Sirius yanked his hand back.

"Get rid of it," Harry said in a panic. "What is this? Get rid of it!"

"Something Prongs and I thought up this morning. I knew enough from my brother about the Dark Mark. So I set a little trap to be triggered by the tattoo. I know James thinks he's innocent, but I couldn't take the chance that Peter could get one over on us."

"Take it off!" Harry loudly pleaded with his godfather. "It's _hurting_ him!"

Sirius frowned. "It's not offensive magic, Harry. The trap won't hurt Peter."

"It's not Pettigrew!"

"Oh my god!" Hermione pushed her way to Harry's side just as Sirius removed the sprung trap to reveal a writhing blond beneath it. "Draco!"

Harry felt his chest clench and then release in a tidal wave of relief at the sight of the man, and he bent forward, wrapping his arms around Draco's shoulders until he heard a hiss of pain. Sitting back, Harry drew his attention to Draco's arm, which was gushing blood due to an arrow sticking out of it. "What happened?"

"Fucking . . . centaurs," Draco hissed angrily. He looked pale and woozy from the loss of blood. "The whole lot should be rounded up and thrown into the lake. I don't care what Granger says. Bloody beasts."

"We need a Blood-Replenishing Potion," Hermione said urgently. "Let's get him inside."

No one moved a muscle.

"Hermione, who is that?" Remus asked nervously.

"This is who Harry and I have been waiting for."

"Death Eater," Sirius said stiffly. "He's a Death Eater."

"I know," Harry whispered sadly, affectionately brushing blond fringe from Draco's forehead before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his mouth. "I know."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Had a rough week (for those who follow me on FB or tumblr, you know why) and we still have family in from out of town. Weekend might be busy, but I wanted to make sure that you got at least one more update for this month, and I had some extra time today. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews/comments here and on Ao3. They were so helpful in keeping my stress levels in check over the past week.

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

 **July 21st, 1981**

"Your family . . . loud," Draco mumbled incoherently.

Harry kept quiet, holding Draco while Hermione fought with the others about bringing him into the house. Sirius was the biggest hurdle, and Harry had known he would be once he saw Draco's mark. He had hoped, however, that it would be a long while before that fact was revealed. Still, he did not care what his godfather thought or said; Harry, in fact, tuned Sirius's angry shouting out completely, knowing already that Hermione would win. Not only was she in the right, she also had Remus on her side regardless of whether he agreed with her or not.

Eventually, it was James who came to Harry's side, using his wand to cast a series of binding charms on Draco—not to apprehend him but to secure him as he was lifted. Harry smiled gratefully at his father as he shared the weight, not trusting his magic to be gentle enough to carry Draco. The two walked right past Sirius and Hermione, who were still arguing. He wondered if that had been her motive all along—to create a distraction—because when he glanced back at his best friend, she smirked at him.

In and out of consciousness, Draco lolled his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at James. "Potter, I hate to be the one to . . . say it, but your dad is much better . . . looking . . . than you."

Draco then promptly passed out before Harry could make a rebuttal.

"Arsehole," Harry muttered under his breath, earning an uncomfortable laugh from James.

They carried Draco up the stairs, being careful when turning the corner. As they made their way down the hall, Harry saw the door to his parents' bedroom click shut. He assumed his mother was behind it, protecting her baby from an unknown Death Eater. He did not blame her. Peter was one thing, he supposed. They knew him. Draco was a stranger, vetted only by Harry and Hermione who were both—despite their newly formed relationships—strangers as well. Their word would not be enough to eliminate suspicion.

There was a phial of Blood-Replenishing Potion already waiting for them on the small dresser next to the bed in the spare room where Harry had been sleeping.

With what looked to be minimal unease, James released the bindings and handed Harry the potion. "Might need Moony to look at that arm. We're all good at patching up injuries from curses, but he's had the most experience with wounds."

Harry used a spell that Hermione once read in _Magical Medicinal_ to get the potion into Draco's system while he was unconscious. They had once attempted the same procedure with an unconscious Ginny before they knew of the spell, massaging her throat and hoping for the best, but almost causing her to choke to death on Skele-Gro. Setting the empty phial aside, Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Draco's colour began to swiftly return.

"So he's . . . yours?"

Looking up at his father, Harry waited to see disappointment or even disgust. Vernon would have been disgusted—had been, in fact. When he saw nothing but worry, he scolded himself for thinking that his father could have been anything but accepting. "He's mine."

James smiled sadly. "I bet there's a story there."

Harry laughed uncomfortably. "A few."

"But you trust him?"

"With my life."

"With all of ours?" James asked cautiously but with quiet hope.

Harry nodded, squeezing the hand of Draco's uninjured side. The injured arm was the one showcasing his Dark Mark for all to see. "He can be trusted. He didn't want this," he said, looking at the Dark Mark. "Honestly, he's one of the reasons why I began thinking you might be right about Pettigrew. Not every Death Eater is there because they want to be or because they agree with him."

"You knew other Death Eaters? Some that can be trusted?"

Thinking about Snape, Harry dipped his head in silent confirmation. He knew better than to tell his father about the man now. It would only undo whatever progress he made with Draco to compare the two. Harry was well aware of how his father felt about Severus Snape.

"I'll send Remus up. See if Hermione's been successful at swaying Padfoot."

"Dad?" Harry said, making James pause as he reached the door. "Thank you."

Draco suddenly revived when the door closed. "Nice arse on him too."

"Fucking hell," Harry said on a stressed exhale, kneeling by Draco's side and resting his forehead against his shoulder. "You complete and utter twat. Where the hell have you been?"

Draco made a pained sound as he adjusted his position on the bed. "Having my trousers tailored. Where the fuck do you think? I was trying to escape Hogwarts. Heard McGonagall making a fuss saying that Dumbledore had been called away on urgent business, and I thought I'd make a run for it."

"Death Eaters are attacking somewhere. We got a fire-call just before you showed up."

"Well, the Order's fearless leader is running a tad late," Draco said coolly. "He was standing by the gates. Right where I needed to Disapparate. I think he knew it too. I couldn't double back to the room, so I stupidly went for the forest since I knew that the wards ended somewhere in the middle. Guess what else is in the middle?"

"Centaurs?" Harry deadpanned.

"Always knew you weren't as stupid as you look."

Harry laughed and leant forward, kissing Draco and feeling just a bit lost and found at the same time. He felt like somehow everything had finally caught up with him in this timeline and he was really himself again. He felt like his two worlds had been forcefully trying to collide and merge, shaking and cracking as they did so, but now—thankfully—it was one world and everything was settled. "I'm so glad you're here."

In a quiet, somewhat vulnerable voice, Draco whispered, "Me too."

The door opened, and they separated. Harry was relieved to see it was just Hermione and Remus.

She bolted for the bed, pushing Harry aside and gently hugging Draco. "You prat."

"Merlin, your hair is atrocious, Granger," Draco muttered bitterly. "If I escape the wrath of centaurs and blood loss only to be suffocated by this mess, I'm going to be cross with you." When she pulled back, dabbing at wet eyes, he rolled his own at her. "So dramatic."

Harry turned at the sound of Remus clearing his throat.

"That arm looks pretty bad," he said, frowning. "James thought I might be able to help. Did you already give him the Blood-Replenishing?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. And the bleeding seems to have stopped a bit."

"That will change," Remus said, gently lifting Draco's arm to look at the underside. "The end broke off."

"Surely, you're not just going to pull it out," Hermione said, looking uneasy.

"Do it," Draco said, teeth clenched. "I've been through worse."

"Hermione, would you please get another Blood-Replenishing Potion? If Lily's not outside yet, James will know where they are." When she hesitated, he looked at her with pleading eyes, causing her to sigh and stand.

She squeezed Draco's leg lightly before darting out the door.

Harry and Remus shared a look.

"Scourgify your hands. When I pull it out, cover the wound immediately." Remus gently lowered Draco's arm, reaching one hand into his pocket and removing a small phial. At Harry's curious glance, he said, "Dittany. Always keep some on hand. It won't heal the entirety of injury, but it'll close the wound. Unfortunately, we can't use a Pain Relief Potion until after. We need to make sure that there was no nerve damage, and pain level is the best indication."

Harry used the Cleaning Spell on his hands, nodding along with everything that Remus said. "How have I not had to treat an arrow wound yet?"

"Because the bloody centaurs were on _your_ side," Draco ground out.

Sharing a look with Remus, they silently counted down. Remus removed the arrow with one swift motion, causing Draco to cry out in pain with an angry look on his face that Harry could sympathise with. Harry covered the wound with his hands, lifting Draco's arm so Remus could apply Dittany to the entry point, sealing the skin.

Harry pressed his forehead to Draco's, allowing Remus to pull his hand away from the wound to silently cast an array of Healing Charms to syphon off the blood as well as remove any potential remnants of the arrow shaft. Draco's hair was soaked with sweat.

"You're such a baby," the blond said. "Look at you getting all worked up over this."

Laughing, Harry sighed with relief, just happy to hear the sound of Draco's voice. "Arsehole. If you'd wanted, we could have just vanished the bones in your arm and dosed you with Skele-Gro. I think I know the spell."

"Idiot," Draco mumbled. "Can't believe you let that tosser try to heal your arm. Everyone knew he was a joke."

"Hermione didn't," Harry said with a laugh, meeting Remus's gaze when the man looked up at the mention of his mate. "She used to fancy our Defence professor second year. Complete git."

Draco eyed Remus, and Harry caught the look just as his boyfriend said, "Didn't she fancy our third year professor as well?"

"Shut it."

Looking uncomfortable and confused, Remus cleared his throat as he applied a final layer of Dittany over the exit wound. "That'll hold, but you'll not want to move it much over the next day or two. Were there any other injuries?"

Draco slowly shook his head. "Just . . . tired."

"I'll let you rest." He turned to leave but then stopped and hesitantly held out his left hand to the blond. "Oh, er, Remus Lupin."

Smirking, Draco chuckled. "I'm well aware." He took Remus's hand with his right. "Draco Malfoy."

Wide eyes fell on Harry, and he looked up at Remus with the most innocent expression he could muster. "I know. Believe me, I know."

"I won't say anything to Sirius," Remus muttered, looking at Harry like he was planning on getting himself and Hermione out of the house when Sirius eventually found out.

He figured that his godfather would be the worst when Draco's family name was revealed. Sirius hated his own family, and Harry remembered stories about just how much of a prick he thought Lucius Malfoy was. Still, Sirius and Draco were technically family; Harry hoped he could get the man to see reason with that.

When Remus left, closing the door, Harry kissed Draco again as though he had been holding back previously for the sake of propriety—what with an audience. He did not care that Draco tasted like sweat and smelled like blood, he was just happy that his boyfriend did not smell like he'd just escaped Fiendfyre. He was just happy that Draco was there and alive.

"Sap," Draco said, breaking the kiss. "How bad is it here?"

"Not very," Harry answered. "Hermione and I have told them enough to know that they should trust what we say about what needs to happen. They know about Pettigrew."

"And Black's not in Azkaban? Did you put a muzzle on him and chain him in the garden?"

"Just about."

"Anyone else know?"

Harry shook his head. "We hopefully saved some people who might've died during a Death Eater raid today, but they don't know who we are or why we asked them to not go. And everyone's been told not to say a word to Dumbledore or the rest of the Order. What about you? Any . . . ?" He trailed off, his eyes glued to the Dark Mark on Draco's arm.

"Doesn't even tingle," Draco said, glancing down at his forearm. "Kind of nice. At least this time he has no idea who I am. Can't torture me through this thing."

Frowning, Harry cleared his throat and tried not to remember the nights when Voldemort used to try and summon Draco through the mark just to hurt him. He knew that Draco would never go, so it was basically just a long-distance Cruciatus Curse and a way to take one of the sharpest arrows out of Harry's quiver—so to speak.

"Why are we here?" Harry tentatively asked. "Why did you send us back?"

Draco sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Can that wait? It's . . . I'd rather not have to tell it more than once, and Granger's likely already written a list of fucking questions she needs me to answer about this. Go deal with your . . . parents. Merlin, but your dad is fit."

"Shut up," Harry said, kissing Draco's forehead. "I'll come back with a Pain Relief Potion."

"Don't bother. Doesn't even hurt that bad, and you know that stuff makes me groggy. Plus, we're two decades back. I don't want to drink anything inferior because they might not know any of the advancements we've made in brewing. I'll be fine." When Harry hesitated, Draco used his good hand to squeeze Harry's arm. "I'm fine, Potter. I'm here. We're all together like we planned."

* * *

When he closed the door, Harry cast Silencing and Locking Charms to keep the others out and keep Draco from potentially overhearing should Sirius's stubbornness—and volume—reach up the stairs.

He turned around and leant his forehead against the wall, trying to remind himself that he had been through worse. That he had watched Cedric die, and he had lost Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus and Tonks, Fred . . . eventually all the Weasleys had either died or ended up in Azkaban along with what was left of the Order and Dumbledore's Army. Though he could not remember the details, Harry knew that he had lost Teddy and Andromeda. He should not be so affected emotionally when he had been through worse, and Draco was perfectly fine—if a bit injured.

But the stress of his life pressed down on him like it always seemed to, and he fought back angry tears as he took in gulps of air, trying to breathe slowly like Hermione taught him to during moments of panic. Fuck, he was just so tired of fighting and watching people he loved get hurt.

And now he had some of those people back.

He could not lose them all again.

Harry was sure that it would kill him this time.

"He doing all right?"

Straightening his spine at the sound of his father's voice, Harry scrubbed his hands down his face and exhaled, turning around whilst nodding. "Sure is. Can't keep the prat down long. Stubborn, that one."

James smiled softly. "I've got a few people like that. How long have you been together?"

"I don't really know," Harry admitted, awkwardly running his hand through his hair. "We didn't get along in school, and the war kind of . . . It wasn't until his family switched sides that we were even close enough to force our way through some issues. But, well, there are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and fighting a psychopath is one of them." He relaxed when his father grinned at him, but his gaze fell on the still-closed bedroom door that he figured his mother was still behind. "Is she . . . ?"

James's frown vanished, replaced by a sad look of sympathy. "She grew up Muggle. Things are different."

Harry did his best to not react to that, but he felt the way his jaw tensed as he thought about the Dursleys. "Yeah. I know."

He remembered how Dudley teased him, disparaging Harry's grief over Cedric's death by calling him his boyfriend in a mocking tone. He recalled multiple times being dragged to certain places when his aunt and uncle were unable to either leave him at home or with Mrs Figg, and how Vernon would sidestep certain people in public, muttering angrily under his breath. He remembered how his aunt would gasp and gossip about the neighbour's daughter from across the street who supposedly ran off with some "sapphic seductress." He remembered the way his uncle would bitch and moan about how he wished the bloody Prime Minister would make up her mind about what to do with those _freaks_.

Freak had been a common word uttered in the Dursley home. Harry knew it almost always applied to him. Even when Vernon used it when speaking about someone else—and Harry had not been sure _why_ during those moments—he had always felt slighted in some way when he heard it.

"Should we leave?"

James blinked, looking surprised by the question. "What? What do you—? Harry, no. That's not what I meant. Bloody hell, I'm sorry. I only meant that your mum grew up hearing stories and . . . She worries, is all. Your mum's best friend is gay. Only time she ever got detention was when another Muggle-born said some unkind things about Marlene. She'll hex me if she knows I told you, but she punched that bloke right in the face," he said, his expression filled with pride. "Middle of the common room."

Harry forced a smile, still feeling that tightness of worry in his chest. "What did you do?"

Laughing, James ran a hand through his hair. "Knowing me, I probably proposed to her. Don't recall exactly what I said because Remus and I were too busy trying to keep her from killing the arsehole. Sirius pinned him to the ground and offered him a snog."

Letting out an exhale, unaware that he had been worried about what Sirius would think, Harry felt some of the tension vanish. "So everyone's okay with it?"

"I mean . . ." James cringed. "Remus mentioned he's a Malfoy? And of course there's the Death Eater thing but . . . we trust you."

Before Harry could say another word, the bedroom door cracked open and Lily peeked out, her eyes red. She made eye contact with him before looking away. "James, can I have a moment with him?"

James turned and kissed her forehead. Harry could hear him whisper, "Everything's going to be fine."

Feeling numb, Harry stepped into the room, looking at the crib where his younger self sat chewing on the corner of an old, red blanket. He wondered if she had been in here, looking at the baby and wondering if he was gay too. It made sense, Harry supposed, but then he did not want to say one thing and have his parents raise the kid to grow up with any assumptions.

"Am I not what you imagined?"

He heard her choke on a breath, but he could not bring himself to turn around. While she was beautiful and individual in her own way, there was no denying the blood relation between Lily Potter and Petunia Dursley, and he could not bring himself to potentially see his mother look at him the same look of disappointment that his aunt used to have.

He felt arms wrap around his chest, hugging him tight from behind.

"You're everything and more," Lily said firmly, turning him around and taking his face in her hands. He felt small even though she was shorter than he was. "I'm so so happy that you have someone who loves you. That's all I could _ever_ ask for."

"So you're not—?"

"You're mine," she said in a tone that brokered no argument. "I know it's strange considering the circumstances, but you are my son. Mine and mine alone."

Harry chuckled, desperate to make light of the situation because he did not think he had it in him to start crying again. "Not dad's?"

"He helped a little," Lily said with a smile that perked up on one side more than the other. "You certainly got his bravery."

"I think you're plenty brave, Mum."

She let out a breath and brushed the fringe from his forehead. "I'm sorry I panicked. I just . . . Where I grew up, well, let's just say that I never want you to go there. Muggles are so very different, Harry. I came home from school one summer, and a boy that lived one street over . . . He died. I didn't know the people who did it, but my sister did. She wasn't friends with them but . . . God, and I saw you kiss that boy, and I remembered seeing the papers and hearing my mother cry over what had been done."

"If it helps," Harry said. "I prefer it in the Wizarding world. And I know things wouldn't be that great for Draco and me here if we lived in the Muggle world. It's not perfect where we're from either, but it's a little better last I checked. As long as you're not disappointed."

Lily smiled sadly, looking at him as though she were silently asking him if it would change anything if she were. "It's unexpected and surprising, but I don't care."

Relieved, because he needed her, Harry smiled. "You're unexpected and surprising too, you know. I never thought you'd be the swearing type, for instance. And Petunia . . ." He laughed just thinking about it. "Well, I'd always assumed you'd sound alike."

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Lily linked her arm with his and headed for the door. "Tuney started faking her accent when she began dating that . . . oaf. Mine just kind of wore down over the years at Hogwarts, I guess. Comes out when I'm angry or not thinking."

Grinning as he remembered how she unapologetically called Sirius a cunting twat basket, Harry leant against her. "I actually really like it."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

 **July 21st, 1981**

Hermione met Harry and Lily on the stairs with a Blood-Replenishing Potion in her hands.

Though she was relieved to see peace on Harry's face, the tiny cracks in his resolve caused by the pressure of undue stress concerned her. She wondered if he had been sleeping well without Draco with him. The pair had been a surprise, that was certain. Ron had been the first to catch on to the apparent sexual tension between the two that somehow had gone right over Hermione's head. The moment she figured it out, however—after Ginny had to lay not-so-subtle hints on thick—Hermione could not believe she had never seen it before.

After the initial fighting between the two had waned, Harry and Draco somehow turned out to fit each other perfectly. All of the tension built during Hogwarts had settled when they were in Bulgaria, changing to run with an undercurrent of amused flirtation.

Hermione and Draco, however, still had not gotten on very well, mostly because Ron hated the blond's guts and the sentiment was eagerly returned. Though to his credit, Draco had kept his comments to himself and had been the shoulder Harry needed to lean on for support when Ron and the others did not return from a mission. Hermione had learnt to tolerate him after that, despite her own issues with the man.

It was nice having another voice of reason to bookend Harry's impulsivity. While they did not always agree on methods of action, she was grateful to have someone to bounce ideas off of from time to time. Harry—while intelligent and clever on his own—had developed a bit of a dependency on her, fostered from years of relying on one another so heavily. Unless it went directly against his reckless desire to sacrifice himself to save whomever he had his eye fixed on at the moment, Harry often caved to whatever idea Hermione had, which was not always the best thing for her since she—reluctantly—could admit that she was often wrong.

The relationship between Draco and Harry was a gift for Hermione. Seeing her best friend happy in the middle of a war that had gone from bad to apocalyptic was a breath of fresh air that cut through the smoke coming from the rest of the world burning to ashes. However, long after Ron had been locked away and Viktor killed, Hermione watched Draco and Harry with a wistful envy in her heart.

A small flutter of that envy echoed now when Harry smiled at her, silently communicating that Draco was going to be okay. She smiled back, ready to stamp down that bit of jealousy in her chest when she turned to head back down the stairs and met Remus's gaze. Envious flutter gone in an instant, the void was quickly replaced by a feeling of contentment unmatched by any other moment in her life prior to arriving in 1981.

She was an avid cynic of Divination, but she had a feeling that if she opened her mind just a tad, she would begin to wonder if travelling to the past had not been fate.

"So, tell us about your Death Eater boyfriend," Sirius said conversationally from his seat on the sofa. His feet were kicked up on the coffee table and remained there until Lily knocked them down. He had lost all hostility in his tone from before.

Hermione wondered if that had been due to her scolding, or if Remus and James had said something to him when she was not present.

Harry sighed, his smile vanishing. "He was coerced into taking the mark. He didn't want it. His father was—er, _is_ a Death Eater. At the end of our fifth year, Voldemort infiltrated the Ministry to try and steal the prophecy."

Lily and James both paled at the casual mention of what was obviously a protected secret from everyone outside of the cottage. The redhead clutched at her husband's arm as he gently stroked the fingers of his free hand down her hair.

"So it's real?" Remus asked. "Dumbledore said as much, but . . ."

"A prophecy exists," Hermione answered tersely.

"I'll be the one to fulfil it," Harry said, looking at his parents. "Your . . . The _other_ me won't ever come into contact with Voldemort. This is my job."

"You're no less our son than little Harry is," James said. "If there really is a prophecy like we've been told and you have no choice, then we'll do this together. We'll be there with you."

Before Harry started to argue—and Hermione could see him getting his favourite martyr speech ready—she prompted him to go back to his original point. "Voldemort has not heard the entire prophecy. So during our fifth year, he sent his Death Eaters to the Ministry to steal it. Draco's father was there. We stopped him from getting the prophecy, and he was arrested by Aurors."

"Wait," Lily cut in looking confused. "You said we. How were you there if this was during your fifth year? Where was Dumbledore?"

"Busy," Harry said, looking uncomfortable. "And we, well . . . It was supposed to be a rescue mission."

Sounding concerned, Remus asked, "For who?"

Both Hermione and Harry looked at Sirius.

He stared back at them for a moment before sighing loudly. "Well, fuck."

"While the Order was dealing with . . . the aftermath of the battle," Harry began, "and the rest of the Wizarding world was finally coming to terms with the fact that Voldemort was back, Draco was forced into taking the Dark Mark as punishment for his father's failure. Voldemort lived in Draco's home. He made it his headquarters. Draco's mother was under constant threat by Voldemort, Death Eaters, and . . ." He hesitated, sending a guilty look toward Remus.

"What?" Remus asked, looking panicked.

"Greyback," Hermione answered. "Voldemort took Greyback into his ranks as an unofficial Death Eater in order to try and control the werewolves. He also used him to threaten Draco into compliance."

"He can be trusted, though?" James asked warily. "Now, I mean?"

"I trust him with my life. And with yours," Harry said, nodding his head. "When we came here to the past, we . . . we didn't leave anything behind. Anyone."

Hermione thought of the Weasleys in Azkaban, but there had only been a rumour that they had survived. Even if they had been alive, they were suffering. Other than their imprisoned friends, she, Harry, and Draco had lost everyone else in the war. "We're all he has left. Draco, above all else, protects those closest to him."

"Singing my praises, Granger?"

Hermione turned to see Draco stumbling down the stairs. Mouth open, she snapped, "Why aren't you resting?"

"I've been stuck in a room for days, Hermione; give me a break, would you? I've yet to properly meet my in-laws."

Sighing irritably, Harry went to meet Draco on the stairs and placed his hand beneath Draco's elbow in order to help him down the rest of the way. "Could you not be a git for . . . two minutes?"

"I could try, but I was under the impression you wanted me to use what energy I had to recover."

Other than his obvious weakness and the fresh scar left that even Dittany could not fully repair, Hermione noticed that his arm was almost fully healed. His previous pallor had gone away, but even so, she thrust the Blood-Replenishing Potion into his hand once he reached the bottom of the staircase. "Take that in another hour, just in case."

When he smirked at her, she huffed and turned away, moving to the sofa to sit beside Remus. She watched as he slowly made his way to the other sofa, extending a hand to James and Lily. James shook it, but Hermione caught his eyes glancing at the bandage on Draco's other arm. Instead of covering his recent wound, it was wrapped loosely around his forearm, covering from wrist to elbow. Everyone clearly remembered what was beneath it.

"I'm not my father," Draco whispered.

Lily took his hand right after. "Harry and Hermione said that it wasn't your choice."

Draco shook his head. "It wasn't. I can't lie and say there hadn't been a time when I thought it meant something prestigious. I was raised with a different set of ideals in regards to how certain individuals should be treated. I've thankfully had a drastic re-education on the matter."

"Reeducation?" Remus asked.

"I punched him in the face once," Hermione said with a grin. "Maybe he means that I somehow reprogrammed his brain." Her smile widened when Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"Just because you were raised one way doesn't mean you had no choice to believe blood supremacy bullshit." When everyone looked at Sirius, he shrugged unapologetically. "What? It's the truth."

"Says the Gryffindor who had friends to back him up when his beliefs shifted," Draco said, turning his full attention on Sirius. "I imagine it was also easier to turn away from a parent when they treated you poorly. I, however, was the apple of my father's eye and had no reason to question the man. He gave me everything, he was well-thought of by other esteemed people, and never once raised a hand to me. He also died to save mine and my mother's lives. I hardly believe that Walburga Black would have done the same for either of her children."

Sirius narrowed his gaze. "You know Walburga?"

"I've heard enough stories."

"From?"

"My mother."

He looked like he already knew the answer, but Hermione cringed when Sirius asked, "And who is your mother?"

"Sirius—" James and Remus said warningly at the same time.

Draco met the man's stare with a daring one of his own. "Narcissa Malfoy."

Everyone seemed to be waiting for Sirius to explode. James and Remus looked ready to jump across the room to intervene if he attacked. Harry kept a firm grip on Draco's uninjured shoulder, looking like he was silently begging his godfather to understand.

But Sirius Black laughed.

He laughed and laughed until he was gripping his side with one hand, wiping tears from his eyes with the other. Everyone settled slowly until he turned to look at Lily, grinning brightly. "All the jokes about inbred purebloods. Years of them, Evans. And your son is dating the son of a Black!"

Lily rolled her eyes at Sirius and crossed her arms.

"Why did you three come back?" James asked, ignoring both his wife and best friend.

Hermione and Harry both turned to Draco with interest.

His shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy sigh. "Because otherwise, I would have been killed."

* * *

 _Draco looked at the ruins of Hogwarts in front of him and sighed, feeling an old familiar bitterness rising up like bile in his throat. He remembered hating the place and the rules and constraints put on him that he never had at home. Granted, his parents had other boundaries and lines that were never to be crossed, but in his younger years he took for granted the safety that Hogwarts offered. By the time his father was in Azkaban, Draco longed for the days when his biggest concern in life was whether or not Granger bested him in Charms or Harry caught the Snitch before he did._

I did this _, he thought as he stepped over moss-covered rubble that used to be a part of the former fortress. Hogwarts might as well just be one more castle in Scotland destroyed by war and abandoned by those who had no other choice but to run._

 _He had chosen Hogwarts._

 _Granger was safest in her little forest with a thousand and one wards set up, surrounded by every bloody book written in the past five decades—and then some. Harry had gone off to Godric's Hollow. If it had been any other time, Draco would have liked to have gone with him. He went once, earlier in the year when Harry insisted on visiting his parents' grave. A part of Draco had wanted to scold him for it because it seemed like a waste of time when they had so much at stake, but with his own parents dead—and no idea where or if they had been buried—he understood on some level the need to visit their final resting place. Shockingly, they had escaped without any attack or sign of Death Eaters._

 _There were other places he could have chosen for Granger's Summoning Spell to kill the Dark Lord. Malfoy Manor was high on the list, the Department of Mysteries as well—and having stolen the Time-Turners, Draco already knew how to get in. Harry had even mentioned a cave where the Dark Lord had suffered a loss due to the efforts of Regulus Black, another reformed Death Eater. That location was ruled out because Harry was not sure whether or not it was still infested with inferi._

 _But Draco chose Hogwarts._

 _Not only was it the place where the Dark Lord suffered his greatest loss—Snape's betrayal followed by Harry's second survival of the Killing Curse—but Draco felt he owed it to the castle. He had let the Death Eaters in. He had been the one to contaminate the hallowed halls of his sanctuary with the evil that was lurking in his home. He owed it to Hogwarts to make it right._

 _Ravenclaw Tower no longer existed. Nor did the Quidditch Stands, the greenhouses, and the Great Hall. The dungeons were fully submerged beneath the lake, no walls, glass, or magic keeping out the water and beasts lurking within. His boots splashed quietly in the water as he slowly walked up the main staircase, waiting for it to shift. It never moved. Nor did any of the staircases above him. It made getting to the Astronomy Tower that much more difficult, but a few charms and some careful stepping had him back in the place where it had all went to shit for him._

 _He could hear the echoing sound of_ "Expelliarmus!" _His own voice spoken from years earlier when he was a terrified boy, waiting for death but doing his best to prolong the inevitable while trying to save his mother at the same time._

"No harm has been done. You have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived. I can help you, Draco."

 _He could still remember the way his hands shook as he held Dumbledore at wand point._

"No, you can't. Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

 _For years Draco had cursed himself for not accepting the man's help—begging for it even. He blamed himself for everything that had happened following Dumbledore's death, even if he had not been the one to kill him. It was not until his feelings for Harry had shifted from confused and angry to protective and angry that he realised that Dumbledore could not have helped him. He had years to help Harry, his supposed favourite, and the man had done nothing but set him up as a sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered for the good of all._

 _Draco wondered if Dumbledore stood before him now—knowing all that he knew—if he would have still lowered his wand in the end._

 _A horrifying chill filled the air, and Draco turned his attention to the sky where he spotted a dementor hovering too close for comfort. He knew that several had taken up residence in the forest, likely sucking the souls out of every last unicorn and stray kneazle. More annoyed than afraid, he pointed his wand at the creature and cast,_ "Expecto Patronum!"

 _The stupid little ferret did its job and chased the dementor away. Draco did his best to try and look grateful. When the ferret had appeared after his first successful casting of the charm, he'd thrown a book at Harry's head for laughing._

 _It was only later while reading up on Animagi training that Draco learnt that a person's Patronus often reflected their inner Animagus. Granger had been beside herself with theories, coming to the conclusion that Moody à la Crouch Jr had not transfigured Draco into a ferret during fourth year but rather forcibly pushed him into an Animagus form that he had not yet been prepared for. Learning that the little creature had been a part of him all along made the memory slightly less traumatic, and he resolved to embrace the Patronus with pride._

 _Harry saying that it was cute had absolutely nothing to do with it._

 _Dementor gone, Draco looked around the tower, trying to find a stable enough spot to set up for the ritual. He took no more than three steps when multiple cracks of Apparition sounded, and he was suddenly faced with both Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange flanking the Dark Lord himself._

 _The dementor made him feel warm by comparison._

 _Despite spending all of his time with two Gryffindors, Draco still had a hefty amount of sensible Slytherin self-preservation, which was why when his gaze met the red stare of the Dark Lord, he tried to Disapparate on the spot._

 _The heavy pressure of familiar Anti-Disapparation wards pushed down on him, and his eyes widened. "Those wards were broken when Hogwarts fell."_

 _Both Lestranges laughed at him. Rabastan had a twitch in his eye, and Rodolphus gave a little shudder with every cackle as though his body were no longer used to certain involuntary movements. Draco wondered if their madness had simply progressed this far or if they were both suffering the long-term effects of the Cruciatus. Compared to the unnatural stillness of the Dark Lord, they looked as though they were seizing. The Dark Lord—_ Voldemort _, Draco mentally corrected himself—was calm, rooted to the spot, and smiling._

Fuck _._

 _Slipping his wand into the pocket of his robes, Voldemort's smile turned into a grin, and he opened his arms to Draco, who trembled in revulsion and well-placed fear. He could not even summon the anger he knew was inside of him. This monster had destroyed his school, defiled his home, and murdered his parents. He wanted to slit the bastard's throat. He wanted to tear out his still-beating heart. He wanted to eviscerate him completely. Set him on fire and piss on the bloody ashes._

 _He wanted . . . very much to be as far away from Hogwarts as possible right then._

 _He wanted to be with Harry._

 _Draco felt his Occlumency shields shift in response to being prodded. A bubble of rage flared inside him. The fear was still there, certainly, but Voldemort was trying to push his way into Draco's mind. He would not let the bastard know of their plans, of their locations, or of the Time-Turners they had been using to try and dismantle the Death Eaters._

 _"Oh, Draco," Voldemort said, chuckling as he stepped forward._

 _Draco took a step back._

 _"This is no longer the Hogwarts you knew, ruled by the self-righteousness of a lazy fool. The magic of this land obeys me now. I knew the very moment you arrived. This is land that I reclaimed after my defeat of Potter and his silly little Order."_

 _"You didn't beat Harry. He's still alive."_

 _Voldemort chuckled, the sound cold and devoid of true emotion. "Not for long. I've killed everyone who has ever attempted to guide him. I've imprisoned his friends, tortured most to death, and murdered the rest. Only two remain, isn't that right?" Another two steps forward._

 _Draco moved back quickly only to feel the press of a broken railing against his lower back. Shit. On instinct, his hand tightened around his wand, but Voldemort took one more step, distracting him long enough for Rabastan to disarm him._

 _It felt nothing like the anger when Harry had taken his wand from him years earlier at Malfoy Manor. He felt disgusted. Violated, even, at the sight of the hawthorn wood in Rabastan's filthy grip._

 _"He knows where you are, doesn't he, Draco?" Voldemort asked, still smiling._

 _It reminded Draco of Nagini. Animal or not, he had been certain that the horrid beast had smiled before devouring Charity Burbage on his dining room table._

 _"I wonder how badly it would break Potter to find your body?" Voldemort's red gaze slipped from Draco's eyes to look over his shoulder, down onto the grounds below._

 _Unlike the soft grass that had been there before the war, Draco knew there was nothing but sharp rocks and broken pieces of what was left of the castle. It was amazing that the Astronomy Tower had held together._

 _Quick as a snake, Voldemort's hand gripped around Draco's throat, pushing him back until the railing gave way. Draco froze in fear for a split second before he began scrambling. He anchored the heels of his boots against the edge of the floor, fisting Voldemort's robes tight in hand as though he could cling to the monster to prevent himself from falling—as though he even had a chance._

 _His attention flickered to Rabastan, lazily twirling Draco's wand in his fingers._

 _It was not supposed to be like this._ Merlin, why could nothing ever go the way it's meant to? _He thought of Granger, likely having started the ritual, safe in her little forest. He thought of Harry, wondering if he had begun setting up inside his parents' old cottage or if he had stopped to pay his respects in the cemetery first. Unable to stop himself, Draco looked down. Would he be left there for Harry to find? Would he be buried? Would Harry come to visit him?_

 _He did not want to die. Draco wanted to fight and kick and scream and sometimes run and hide. But he was trapped by Anti-Disapparation wards, had no Emergency Portkey, and his wand was in someone else's hand. He thought about wandless magic but did not believe he had the focus for it. Even if he had figured out how to become an Animagus, the stupid ferret that he was would die just as easily as he would when he smashed his head on the rocks below._

 _"How appropriate," Voldemort said, "that Potter will find you in the same place he found Dumbledore's broken body."_

 _Draco lost his footing, and one leg slipped from the ground, dangling beneath him in search of something to grip onto but finding nothing but air. Heights had never made him afraid. He loved flying. But there had always been a broom between him and certain death. Gripping Voldemort's robes tighter, Draco's eyes widened just slightly and he looked down to prevent the man from seeing into his mind. There was only one way out now, and he could use it to spit in the Dark Lord's face one final time, but he needed to let go. The Time-Turner was beneath his shirt, and if he activated it with Voldemort touching him, then he would bring them both back._

 _"Any last words before I officially end the Malfoy line?"_

 _Summoning what little courage he knew he had, he thought of Harry and forced a shaky smile. "Go fuck yourself, Tom, you useless, half-blood twat!"_

 _It felt like flying._

 _He almost closed his eyes at the relief he felt at no longer being touched by Voldemort. He was free and flying. Snapping himself out of it quickly, Draco opened his eyes just in time to see the enraged look on the Dark Lord's face as he realised what Draco had done. Before the monster could fly down and stop him—because of course he could fly without a broom—Draco pulled the Time-Turner from his shirt._

Everyone was silent when Draco finished telling the tale. Harry's parents looked horrified. Black had his hands closed into tight fists. Lupin had his arm around Granger. Draco raised an interested brow. That was certainly something to ask about later.

"When I—" he began to say but was cut off when Harry threw his arms around his neck and held him tight. "You sentimental idiot."

He knew his tone was sharp, but he still returned the hug without a pause, pressing his nose against Harry's neck and sighing. He smelled clean, like soap and sweat without the tinge of smoke and dirt and blood. Draco could not remember the last time any of them had a proper bath instead of using Cleaning Charms and river water.

"How did you not die?" Granger asked, drawing Draco's attention.

Harry let go, and Draco smirked at the way his boyfriend turned his back to the rest of them as he not-at-all-subtly wiped at his eyes. Merlin, it was adorable and stupid.

"Once the Time-Turner activated and I saw grass appear beneath me instead of rocks, I cast Arresto Momentum. Didn't slow enough to cushion the fall completely, but I didn't die or break anything. Bruised up a bit. Once I realised where I was, I made for the Room of Requirement as quickly as possible. There were no students around and the weather was rather nice, so I assumed it was summer.

"I used the map to keep an eye on the corridors. I asked the Bloody Baron to keep an eye on Dumbledore for me. I think he might have assumed I was my father, so he was eager to assist. That's how I knew Dumbledore was aware that the castle had been infiltrated. It was also how I knew when I could escape."

"That's actually very clever," Lupin said with an inspired look.

"Wait," Black interjected. "What's a Room of Requirement? There's no such place in Hogwarts. We would have found it."

Draco watched as Harry grinned.

"Draco!" Granger snapped impatiently. "How did you not die? You said that Rabastan took your wand. How were you even _able_ to use that level of magic to slow your fall?"

He felt the way his smirk slowly tilted up. "That's why Voldemort looked so angry when I was falling, you see." He put a hand on his belt, and magic shifted around the Disillusioned object there. When Draco's hand touched it, the spell faded away. "While I can't say for certain, I believe this belongs to you?"

Harry's eyes widened as they gazed down at Draco's hand. He could hear Granger gasp loudly.

"You . . ." Harry began. "You took the Elder Wand from Voldemort?"

"Right before I did _not_ plummet to my death," Draco said with a satisfied grin. "He stowed it in his robes thinking that I was not a threat. He wanted to kill me with his bare hands. What's that Muggle phrase, Granger? Pride cometh before the fall?"

"You took the Elder Wand from Voldemort," Harry repeated, looking dumbly down at the wand now in his own hands.

By the way he was staring at it, Draco figured that it still technically belonged to him. Draco had been able to use it around Hogwarts to evade death and Dumbledore, but it had not been fast enough to evade attacking centaurs once he entered the forest as a means of escape.

"Wait, are we talking about the actual Elder Wand? From the stories?" Lupin asked, eyes slightly wide. Granger scooted closer to him, putting a hand on his leg.

"From Beedle?" Black asked sceptically. "That's just a children's story."

"It's real," Harry whispered.

"This is amazing!" Granger said, standing up, her hair looking twice as big as before. Draco wondered not for the first time if it responded to her moods. "Harry, we actually have the Elder Wand! Do you have any idea what this means? The advantage this gives us?"

Her eyes were manic in that same way that they looked when she was excited about anything. The last time had been when she found the spell she believed could kill Voldemort. She moved a lot when she talked, sometimes punching Draco or Harry in the shoulder. When she flung her arms out in emphasis now, he almost flinched out of habit. The collar of her blouse slipped just a little, and Draco's focus landed on an interesting looking scar peeking out. _Oh, that's hilarious_.

"Are either of you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked with a bright smile.

"That you might have a werewolf fetish?"

Lupin made a noise that sounded like a mixture between a growl and a squawk. Either way, the reaction was satisfactory. It was even worth it when Granger punched him in his good shoulder.

"The Hallows, idiot," she snapped at him. "We have all three Deathly Hallows now."

All eyes settled on Harry, who looked just a bit overwhelmed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

 **July 21st, 1981**

The Elder wand had not been Draco's _only_ procurement from Hogwarts.

"The last time I touched this, it was burnt and empty," Harry said with a scowl. He could feel the Dark Magic pulsing inside of the diadem, and it made him sick to his stomach.

When Draco's bag—which had been left behind in the Death Eater trap in the garden—had been brought inside, he removed the sparkling tiara. Harry and Hermione had both flinched angrily at the sight, but neither did much more to react until Lily—suspecting the item to be exactly what it was: the lost diadem of Ravenclaw—reached for it with an inquisitive stare. Draco had yanked it away before she could touch it, and Harry was on his feet standing protectively between his mother and the Horcrux.

"There are currently five," Draco informed everyone.

Harry concentrated on how much he hated Voldemort. He must have become visibly enraged because Hermione snatched the diadem from his hands, and immediately reduced the anger. "Thanks, Hermione."

She gave him an understanding smile before slipping the diadem back into Draco's bag. He handed her his wand and watched as she cast an array of enchantments over the bag, some of which he recognised as repellants. The last thing they needed was for another unsuspecting person to think that the Horcrux was just a pretty trinket.

His family, thankfully, seemed to understand the severity of the situation. James and Remus were glaring at the bag with nervous disdain. Sirius was glaring at Draco for bringing it into the house. Harry decided to look at the silver lining in that no one was hexing each other.

"The diadem of Ravenclaw," Draco continued, "a ring that will be found in the ancestral home of Voldemort's mother, a cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, an heirloom locket of Salazar Slytherin, and a diary that Voldemort carried with him at Hogwarts."

"Nothing of Godric Gryffindor's?" Sirius asked, looking just a little smug.

"The sword of Gryffindor is what we used to destroy some of the Horcruxes," Harry said.

"We can't do that this time," Hermione muttered with a heavy sigh. "It doesn't have any basilisk venom imbued in the blade."

Groaning, Harry scrubbed his hands down his face, exhausted. "I'd forgot about the bloody venom. I really don't want to go down into that chamber again." At the curious looks given him around the table, he shook his head. "It's nothing."

Hermione offered a polite smile. "Something we can think about later on."

"Harry killed a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets," Draco blurted out.

Gaping at him, Harry threw his hands up incredulously. "Really?"

Draco shrugged unapologetically. "Basilisk venom would be the easiest way to destroy the Horcruxes as far as I'm concerned, and I, for one, am not keen to revisit Fiendfyre, thank you very much."

"We can discuss how to destroy them later. Right now, we need to talk about their locations and how we can get to them," Hermione interjected, effectively cutting off James, Sirius, and Remus, all of whom looked like they were ready to burst at the seams with questions.

Harry glanced at his mother, who remained quietly staring at the centre of the table. He might have assumed she was not listening had he not seen Hermione so often with the same expression of intense contemplation.

"I can get the diary," Draco said. "It's likely that he's already given it to my father. If so, I know exactly where it's being kept."

As though he just remembered who Draco was, Sirius narrowed his eyes at the blond. "And what exactly do we plan on doing about Lucius Malfoy? Something tells me that he wasn't exactly forced or coerced into becoming a Death Eater."

"That's not a priority," Harry said, trying to stop an argument before it even started. Despite being a Death Eater, Harry knew that Lucius had tried to do the right thing—at least for Narcissa and Draco—in the end. The idea of having the man thrown in Azkaban now made him uncomfortable. Draco, likely due to his upbringing, kept his face blank as he met Sirius's stare.

"I think it's something we need to talk about. You say that your boyfriend here became a Death Eater under duress, and we're speculating that something might have happened to Wormtail . . . but what about the others?" Sirius demanded. "Are we going to just give every Death Eater a free pass? We've been fighting these bastards for years, Harry. We've seen them murder our friends. They've tortured us. They are, as we speak, trying their damnedest to figure out how to murder _you_."

"Pads," James said pleadingly.

With no answers of his own, Harry looked at Hermione.

She sighed and stood, making her way across the room where she pulled a pad of paper from the top of the refrigerator and snagged a pencil from a ceramic cup on her way back to the table.

Trusting Hermione to handle it, Harry instead focused on the cup. It was clearly homemade and had tiny red handprints all around the sides. He wondered which of his parents had helped his younger self make it. _Likely James_ , he figured. It seemed like something his mother would have appreciated. He remembered that Petunia had kept a painting that a five-year-old Dudley made her in a frame next to her bed.

"What are you doing?" Remus quietly asked.

"Writing down a list of Death Eaters we know and their crimes," Hermione replied stiffly, using a tone that she usually reserved for when people interrupted her revising schedule. "People should be held accountable for their actions, but Sirius is right."

"I _am_?" Sirius asked, sitting up taller.

"If we're going to give Pettigrew a chance to explain, then we should learn what we can about the others. Hold them responsible only for actions they have _already_ committed. Not for things we know they are capable of in the future." When her list was finished, she passed it down the table to James, who held it while Sirius and Remus read from over his shoulders.

"Merlin, it's like a guest list to one of Walburga's dinner parties," Sirius muttered. "We were right about Dolohov killing Gid and Fab." He pointed a few lines down the list. "What about Dorcas Meadowes? Moody said that Voldemort was the one who . . . but some of us suspected Bellatrix because they'd not gotten on well in school."

"Voldemort is responsible for killing Dorcas Meadowes. At least as far as we know," Hermione said evenly, scratching at the sleeve of her forearm. "Bellatrix is guilty of enough on her own without being given credit for the sins of Voldemort."

Sirius, looking relieved that his cousin would not be given a second chance like they had planned to potentially offer others, let out a heavy sigh. "Good. Now, which one killed my brother? I know he was a Death Eater as well, but he was also just a stupid kid. Death Eater or not, I want my revenge on whoever murdered him."

Draco cleared his throat and looked down.

Harry felt a hand rest on his knee, and he sighed. He did not want to have this conversation. The death of Regulus Black had always been a sore spot for him. There was an odd sort of kinship he felt with the boy who had died at only seventeen with the same mission in mind—of taking down Voldemort. Harry wondered how many people really, truly knew what it was like to face death at such a young age. Having been terrified himself—not to mention having seen the cave where Sirius's brother died—he did not suspect that Regulus passed into the afterlife peacefully.

"Harry . . . do you want me to—?" Hermione began.

"I'll do it," he said, standing up. "Sirius, can we talk in private?"

* * *

"Do you think he'll shift back anytime soon?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry and Sirius had stepped into the living room to afford them privacy for discussing Regulus Black. She was not sure what she expected from the man, likely anger and maybe a bit of shouting, but listening to Sirius Black sob in grief was a painful reminder that the adults she had known in her future were so very young now. James and Remus had gone to Sirius, cocooning their friend in a tangle of arms and whispering words of comfort that Hermione tried her hardest to not eavesdrop on.

By the time James and Remus rejoined the still-silent table in the other room, Sirius had become Padfoot and outright refused to change back.

Hermione did not blame him. She often wished that she could hide her emotions behind an expressionless mask of fur and whiskers.

"Hopefully," Harry said, sounding weary and looking exhausted. "We have too much to do. I almost think that constantly being on the run for our lives was easier. At least we didn't have Horcruxes left to find and destroy."

She smiled at him in understanding. "Hot water is nice, though."

Harry chuckled.

Perched as they were on Harry's bed, they could easily hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom across the hall. Hermione wondered if Harry had left the bedroom door cracked open on purpose, just so that he could partially monitor Draco while he took his first real shower in months. Hermione had actually cried when she had taken hers days earlier and was grateful that Remus had given her the privacy to do so, despite the look on his face that said he would have been more than willing to join her.

She tried to not wonder if Harry would have rather been in the shower just then with Draco. A giggle slipped out as she assumed his parents were the only thing keeping him from doing so.

"Something funny?" he asked with a raised brow.

She waved him off. "Ignore me. I'm delirious due to stress."

"I can't believe he stole the Elder Wand from Voldemort," Harry whispered.

"I can't believe he got the diadem as well." Hermione turned on her side to look at Harry, who had his back up against the wall near the window. When they had come up to his room, they'd crawled into the bed, curling up together the way they had when it had just been the two of them alone and afraid in a tent. It brought a small comfort to know that they had come so far and were finally somewhat safe. "Where's the stone?"

"In my pouch," Harry answered. "I only remove it every now and then to make sure it's still there. Took me long enough to find on the forest floor. Still can't believe I just dropped it."

"In your defence—"

"I thought I wasn't coming out of that forest alive?"

Hermione cringed, remembering Harry's body hanging limp in Hagrid's arms. When he had quite literally risen from the dead, she felt a hope like nothing ever before, but that happiness proved short-lived when friends began dying around them. Harry had tried to corner Voldemort into a battle one-on-one, but the Lestrange brothers had gathered around their Dark Lord, and even the true Master of the Elder Wand was no match against three without the wand in question in his possession. After trying to fight their way to victory only to watch their friends die around them, escape had been their only option for survival.

Pulling her from her dark thoughts, the sound of the bedroom door creaking drew both Hermione and Harry's attentions.

She rolled her eyes at the sight of Draco standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist, water glistening off of his too-pale chest. _Honestly. He had the towel right there. What was the sense in wearing it if you weren't going to dry yourself?_ Glancing back at Harry and the stupid way his eyes had glazed over, she imagined she knew the exact reason that Draco was currently letting water pool all over the floor.

"You're in my spot." Draco sauntered over to the bed, giving Hermione less than a second to move before he dropped the towel.

"Oh my God!" She jumped from her spot next to Harry, covering her eyes with one hand as she dove out of the way lest she accidentally get touched by the wretched snake's snake. "You're so disgusting." She bristled only slightly at the sound of both wizards chuckling behind her as she made her way to the door, unsure as to why she was still covering her eyes.

"Off to bed?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

"And where, might I ask, do _you_ sleep, Granger?"

Feeling her cheeks warm over and her blood thrum in her veins at the mere thought of Remus waiting for her, she slowly let out a breath and cleared her throat. "I'll see you both in the morning. Do try to find clothing between now and then, Malfoy."

"I see the eighties have done little to remove the stick from her arse," Draco commented affectionately when Hermione closed the door behind her. He sat back in the bed, putting his good arm behind his head and favouring the other across his chest.

Harry did not bother to reprimand him for his comment. Hermione gave back just as much as she took when the two bickered, and Harry had long since abandoned the idea that his best friend and boyfriend would communicate without sarcasm and insults.

He opened his arm to Draco, smiling when he curled up against Harry's chest. Wet hair tickled against the stubble of Harry's chin and neck, the blond strands looking almost translucent in the waning moonlight streaming in through the window. He briefly wondered if he should tell Draco about Hermione's condition but quickly rid himself of the notion. As much as he was determined to not keep secrets from Draco, this was not his story to tell.

Even if he _had_ wanted to talk, Draco sat up and kissed him, making the ability and desire to talk completely irrelevant.

Eager and desperate and hungry, Harry returned the kiss, pressing his tongue against Draco's with practised movements. His hands slid over a freshly-shaven jawline and back through wet strands of hair, following down the damp skin of Draco's back until he was able to grip a handful of arse. He tried to be gentler than usual, keeping Draco's injury in the back of his mind, but the small gasp of breath against his lips had Harry pushing the blond onto his back.

The sound of a baby crying in the other room broke the headiness that had settled over him.

"I can't do this."

Draco looked up at Harry incredulously. "Because of that?" he asked, gesturing at the closed door. "Cast a Silencing Charm around the room."

"It's weird," Harry mumbled, shaking his head.

"It's not _your_ baby," Draco muttered. "You've no responsibility there. Unless you're in the mood to get up and go breastfeed yourself."

Cringing, Harry pulled away from Draco—who was, of course, now laughing at his expense. "Jesus Christ. Why do you have to take things too far? Besides, I don't . . . I don't think he's . . . I'm . . . Ugh."

Draco laughed louder. "You're thinking of your mother's tits now, aren't you?"

"Fuck off," Harry angrily muttered as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Would you rather think about Granger's breasts and what Lupin is likely doing with them right—"

"I am almost— _almost_ —regretting springing you from Sirius's Death Eater trap." When Harry pulled his hands away from his eyes, Draco was grinning. "You're a shit."

"Love you too, Potter. So Granger's really shagging Lupin? That didn't take long. I knew something was going on just observing them tonight, but she's really gone off to his room?" Draco looked amused by the story he was likely creating in his head, which Harry knew was much more entertaining and less horrifying than the truth of how Hermione and Remus had ended up together.

"You need to not bother her about this," Harry said seriously. "Look, I can't . . . It's not my place, but they—Hermione and Remus—are kind of . . . mates."

Draco's silver eyes widened almost comically, but he did not laugh—for which Harry was abundantly grateful. "You're having a laugh."

"I'm really not."

"That's . . . adorable."

"Oh God," Harry groaned.

"Are they going to get married and everything? Does he know that he used to be her professor? Merlin, how are the rest of you not continually taking the piss out of them? A real romantic fairytale sprung to life right off the pages of a children's book." When Harry narrowed his eyes, Draco corrected, "Or maybe one of those trashy werewolf romance stories. Nothing but smut on every other page."

"How would you know?" Harry asked, unable to hold back the laughter at picturing Draco curled up in the back of the Hogwarts library with a werewolf romance novel hidden behind a potions book, his cheeks pink as he looked up from the pages every few seconds to make sure no one caught him.

"My mother owned some," Draco said casually. He must have found Harry's shocked expression amusing, because he added, " _Everyone's_ mother has a smut-filled werewolf novel somewhere in the bottom of their old Hogwarts trunk. Even yours."

"Please stop talking about my mother," Harry begged. When Draco grinned and tilted his hips—and erection—against his thigh, Harry shook his head. "I'm not having sex in my parents' house, so you can stop while you're ahead."

Pouting, Draco fell back against his pillows and huffed. "Have you always been such a bore? I seem to remember you being more interesting than this back in school."

Amused, Harry traced his fingers over Draco's chest—mapping scars that had long since been forgiven. As though he needed the reminder, Harry said, "We _fought_ back in school."

"Yes," Draco said with an annoyed look, taking Harry's hand and threading their fingers together. "And you would get all hot and bothered. Now you're bothered but lukewarm. Like stale tea."

Sighing, Harry pressed his lips to Draco's temple. "Can we have a mature discussion about this?"

"I _hate_ stale tea."

"You're insufferable."

"I brought you the Elder Wand," Draco said, pouting. "You'd think I would, at the very least, get a blowjob for my efforts."

"My parents—my _actual_ parents—are across the hall."

"That hasn't stopped Granger, I assure you."

Harry thought about making sexual references to Draco's family, only to find himself grimacing before he could manage to get the words out. "They're not _her_ parents. Plus, she's a . . . She has this wolf mate thing with Remus now," he said, catching himself. "I'm blaming any lack of control on her new condition."

Grinning, Draco tilted his head to the side. "Please let me be there if you ever have the chance to say that to her face."

* * *

 **July 22nd, 1981**

It was a long night. Lily spent most of it soothing her small child, who was fussing over some cutting teeth that were not responding to the usual potions. Then again, Harry had been stubborn with Muggle methods as well. She argued with James, insisting that at least one of them should get a good night's rest, but honestly, she felt a strong need to just mother her baby. She wanted to make his pain go away.

The moment that the older version of her Harry had turned up on her doorstep, she had known—no, _felt_ —who he was. Something inside of her magic pulled to him the same way it did the baby in her arms. The potion confirming his identity only solidified the feeling.

When she was pregnant, she had been terrified. Having grown up at a boarding school, she never had much experience with babies. Petunia's boy was just a month older than Harry, and Lily had not even met him. Her only other friend with a child was Alice, and the two were barely acquaintances as the Longbottoms had graduated Hogwarts several years before she had.

Harry was, in fact, the first baby that Lily ever held in her entire life. And up to the moment he was born, she was positively certain she was going to muck it up. She spent the majority of her pregnancy dwelling on the war and prophecies and whether or not her husband and friends would come home from missions, but the moment she went into labour, dread sank into her chest at the thought of actual motherhood. She cried and cried. James held her hand, his lips pressed to her head in an attempt to kiss away her every worry. Sirius sat at the foot of the bed—explicitly where she had told him not to be—having a panic attack of his own as though he were now entirely responsible for the life that _she_ was bringing into the world.

But the moment the Healer had pulled Harry from her body and placed him on her chest, she had known. She had known how to hold him, how to soothe him, and she had known that she would give up her own life if it meant that he could breathe a single second longer than Voldemort wanted. He was hers.

And so, too, was the older version that had shown up at her door with dirty skin, sunken eyes, and blood-stained clothes. Every scar on his body made her ache with that same old panic she felt before his birth. Every story of battle left her internally shaking with dread. Every mention of Voldemort's name had her homicidal.

She accepted him—every bit—instantly, but it had all come down on them so fast that she had not had time to breathe.

And now there was a Death Eater, a Slytherin, _a Malfoy_ in her home, sleeping in the room across the hallway with her son. Lily actively tried to not think about what they might be doing—what she would do in their place if parted from James for more than a day with life and death hanging in the balance.

God, how was she supposed to mother that?

She felt helpless.

When little Harry slept past his normal waking hour, she let him. He was exhausted and so was she, but he had the luxury of being able to rest his weary little eyelids. She had work to do.

Stepping into the kitchen, she let out a sigh of relief when someone—James, Sirius, or Harry she suspected from the blur of black through her fatigued vision—placed a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Love you," she muttered, not caring which wizard received the sentiment. Spotting Hermione and Remus at one end of the table, she took a seat beside her fellow witch and smiled as she sipped her drink, testing the temperature.

"So how did you two get together?"

Lily looked up at the sound of Sirius's voice to see him sitting at the other end of the table beside Harry, who was shoulder-to-shoulder with the Malfoy boy—man. He was a man. Just like her son. Jesus Christ, magic was complicated sometimes. Coffee, though. Coffee was good. Coffee made sense of things.

Harry shrugged, running a hand through his hair in a move that James had perfected decades earlier. It was something that used to annoy Lily. Now she found it endearing.

"I dunno. How does anyone get together?"

"Well, in your parents' case, one person obsessed about the other one to an unhealthy degree," Sirius said, snorting in amusement.

Lily could hear the offended scoff from behind her at the cooker. She grinned knowing full well that her husband had repeatedly made a complete arse of himself for far too long before she decided to give him a chance. She had always thought he was pure ego. Now she knew that he was just a bit of an idiot. _Her_ idiot.

"That's exactly how it happened," Hermione muttered.

Lily watched with a smile as her son narrowed his green eyes at his best friend.

"I was _not_ obsessed."

"You followed him around the castle and stalked him using the map," Hermione said incredulously.

Draco laughed, looking incredibly smug. He _was_ handsome, Lily would give him that, and much more so when he smiled. When he smiled at Harry, however, she felt an odd little tug at her heart. The same little tug she got when her baby cried for hours only to be comforted by the sound of Sirius's motorbike roaring from the street. Relief that her son's sadness was washed away, but envious that it had been _someone else_ to make him smile.

Hermione pinned Draco with an amused look. "You don't get to laugh, Draco. You were just as bad."

"I'll have you know, Granger," Draco said tersely, "that I felt nothing but disdain for him during the entirety of our time at Hogwarts and then some."

"Oh please, you _both_ were ridiculous. Always showing off for one another and teasing each other." Hermione cleared her throat and then took on a lower pitch as she mockingly quipped, " _I think Malfoy's up to something, Hermione. I'm going to spend every waking moment of my year following him around beneath the cloak._ " She changed her tone just slightly, using a bit more of a posh accent. " _How dare you catch the Snitch before me, Potter. Wait until I tell my father about this._ "

Everyone but Harry and Draco laughed.

"I refuse to admit that I felt anything but contempt for him when I was younger," Draco insisted, grabbing a piece of toast from a plate that he looked to be sharing with Harry. "My taste in men was more refined back then. I wouldn't have fancied him due to his ridiculous hair alone."

"Offence taken," James muttered as he pulled up a chair next to Lily, setting down a plate of toast in front of her. "Morning, love. _You_ like my hair, don't you?"

"Eh." She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "It could use a trim."

"So could yours," Draco said to Harry.

Lily wondered if he was trying to get on her good side by just agreeing with her. She was not opposed to the idea.

Harry smiled, running his hands through his hair again at the same time as James. "You could try. Hermione's the only one that's ever been able to cut my hair with any real luck."

"It looked horrible," Hermione said with a smile. Next to her, Remus anxiously scratched at his own hairline, looking as though she were about to attack him with the shears any minute. She laughed and nudged him playfully with her shoulder.

"It wasn't that bad, Hermione," Harry said. "At least the hair stayed cut when you did it. When I was little, it would always grow back anytime Petunia would lop it all off and—"

 _CRACK!_

Silence filled Lily's ears until the muffled sound of chairs scraping across the floor drew her attention.

Her face was hot, and she could feel her heartbeat behind her eyes. She turned to watch as Remus carefully waved his wand in an attempt to repair the cracked window behind her. James was holding her hand, looking at her with worry in his eyes; the gentle warmth of his touch felt like it was drawing the angry heat down from her head. Without looking, she could feel Sirius hovering on her other side the same way he used to in school when older years would call her Mudblood—protective; he had done so long before they were even friends.

Licking her lips, she tried to remember the last time she'd had a bout of accidental magic.

She had suspected when Hermione had mentioned that Harry had been raised Muggle. Knowing that Peter had betrayed them, Marlene had died, and Sirius had ended up in Azkaban all but confirmed her worries. The Ministry would have never let Remus raise her son despite her and James's wishes. That only left . . .

She met Harry's stare across the table, and goddamnit, he looked like he had done something wrong which was most certainly not the case. He remained silent, so Lily glanced to Hermione for confirmation, but the witch turned her eyes downward and awkwardly cleared her throat.

"Harry?" Lily asked quietly, not knowing if she were ready to hear the answer. She knew what her sister was like. Worse, she knew what her sister's _husband_ was like. _Freaks_ , they called witches and wizards. Petunia went so far to pretend she was above everyone else that she had purposely changed her accent and acted like she was better than some girl from Cokeworth.

Lily's gaze landed on Draco's hand as it settled on top of Harry's in a gesture of comfort and support. Vernon would have said horrible, disgustingly cruel things about that.

She wanted to show her son and Draco that she was not her sister or Vernon Dursley. She would never look at them with disgust. Harry was no longer looking in her direction though, his eyes downcast.

Draco, however, met Lily's stare head on; he looked as furious as she felt.

"Petunia?" was the only word she was able to get out as her fingers clenched into a tight fist.

Draco nodded his head once, and then coldly remarked, "They kept him in a cupboard under the stairs."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

 **July 22nd, 1981**

James had fully expected Lily's magic to blow the roof off of the cottage, making her silent walk to the back garden almost as shocking as hearing that his son had been raised by abusive Muggles. It was like swallowing razor wire, trying to keep his composure. Only the look on Harry's face kept him from shouting or storming after Lily as she slammed the back door.

Growing up with Sirius had exposed James to what had previously been an unheard of example of the evils that some adults could reach. In some ways, James understood Voldemort more than he ever had Walburga Black. Voldemort and his Death Eaters sought to eradicate a percentage of the magical population, as though Muggle-borns like Lily and Hermione were a faceless infestation. Walburga Black, however, willingly and repeatedly sought to harm her own children. James could never understand that.

For all he knew about Lily's sister, he never imagined she could be that cruel either. The husband, Vernon, perhaps.

He wanted to ask Harry if he was okay. That was the instinct, even if he knew it was a stupid question. Even if he knew, by the look on his grown son's face, that Harry would do everything to assure him that he was fine. He was not fine. This was not okay. Nothing was okay.

"This is my fault."

Looking up, James made eye contact with Sirius, who looked more devastated than anyone else at the table. A part of him wanted to argue and tell his best friend that he was not at fault, but James could not bring himself to be Sirius's reassurance right then. Harry had been delivered to Petunia and Vernon when he should have gone to his godfather.

Opening his mouth to finally say something, James was interrupted by the sound of crying from upstairs. Before he had a chance to move or say a word, Harry jumped from his seat, muttering a rushed, "I'll take care of him," before darting out of the room in an obvious escape.

"What else?" The tightness in his throat released only to be replaced by a squeezing pain in his chest as he looked at Draco, seeing that the blond was the only one who had willingly offered information.

"Draco," Hermione said warningly.

James held up a hand in her direction, throwing a pained glare at her. He hated the way his voice cracked when he said, "He's my son."

"I don't know all of it," Draco admitted, making eye contact with James and looking as though he were purposely avoiding the steady gaze of Hermione. "Most of the things were whispered about in school. Lived in a cupboard until he came to Hogwarts. They starved him, treated him like their house-elf."

Not that it mattered, because everything he'd heard so far was damning enough, but James needed to know. "They ever hit him?"

"His cousin did," Hermione said in a whisper. "A lot. They didn't stop it. I think . . . His uncle tried to choke him once."

"Why?" Not that there was ever a good enough reason.

Though he had seen the hints of lycanthropy in the witch since her arrival with Remus—having known what to look for after growing up with a werewolf—James noticed the dark look in her eyes at his question, and for a split second, the prey instinct inside of him caused by his own Animagus form quivered at the anger that radiated off of her. His inner stag screamed "Danger. Flee." Remus must have felt something too because he settled a calm hand on her arm, and her shoulders visibly relaxed.

"He accused Harry of . . . a car backfired or something, and they thought Harry had done magic. Accused him of being up to something," Hermione spat out angrily.

James felt warmth for the girl grow at her reaction. He knew that type of anger. He'd felt it for Sirius's parents for half of his life. "Will you see . . . ? One of you—" He cleared his throat, looking between Hermione and Draco. "Make sure Harry's all right? I'll go talk to Lily."

Both silently nodded and made their way out of the kitchen. The second that they were gone, James levelled Sirius with narrowed eyes, unable to stop the way his hands were shaking. It both hurt and pleased him that Sirius looked broken by the information. "Swear it."

Swallowing hard and looking like he was holding back the urge to vomit, Sirius quietly choked out, "I won't let it happen. I don't care what . . . Someone will have to pry him from my dead fingers to take him from me."

Turning his attention to Remus, James sucked in a slow breath in order to calm himself. "And if Sirius is fool enough to get himself killed?"

James was aware of Remus's reservations about children. It had taken him longer than anyone to even hold Harry when he was born. When they had begun discussions about what to do in case the worst should happen, Remus had excused himself entirely from the conversation. That was no longer an option, and he hoped that his friend understood that.

"If something happens to Sirius," Remus began, looking sorrowfully at Sirius as he spoke, "then Hermione and I will take Harry." James suspected that Hermione would not give Remus a choice in the matter even if he wanted to argue. "I don't know where we'll go, but we'll . . . we'll go."

Sinking his fingers into his hair, James pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. "I trust you three more than anyone in the world. You've been my brothers, my family," he finally said after a long minute of silence. "We're going to fix this. Prevent it from happening again." Sitting up with determination, he flicked his wand at the plates of food around the table, clearing them all to the sink regardless of whether or not his friends had already eaten. "We're all to blame for what happened to him. Every last one of us. And I'm holding us accountable."

"We'll fix it," Sirius agreed.

"We won't let it happen again," Remus added.

James nodded at both of them before grabbing Sirius's leather jacket from the hook near the back door. He dug through the pockets until he found what he was looking for and then left the cottage and his friends behind.

Lily knelt in the corner of the garden, waving her wand in intricate patterns that lit up portions of the wards. He had watched her and Hermione investigate and take notes the day before. James figured that she was trying to distract herself, and he did not blame her one bit.

He sniffed loudly, letting her know that he was there, and then tapped on the box he'd removed from Sirius's jacket, pulling two cigarettes from the package and sticking one behind his ear as he lit the other with the tip of his wand.

Despite how she had lectured Sirius on his habit—and would likely do with James later on—he knew that she turned to vices when stressed, and was not surprised when the first words she spoke to him were, "Give us a fag."

Lighting the second cigarette with the end of his own the way Sirius had taught him to do back when they were fifth years at Hogwarts, James stepped forward and placed it between Lily's elegantly outstretched fingers. He jumped a little when she snatched it from him, her movements as quick as a snake.

"I figured it out," she said, not looking at him. Her words came floating along the smoke as she exhaled. "The wards. Other than creatures, they don't keep anything out. We knew that, of course, but Dumbledore said that they were security wards, and I didn't even think to question him."

Furrowing his brow, James knelt down beside her. "What do you mean?"

She looked at him, her green eyes glassy. She looked both terrifying and terrified. Nothing like the doe that her Patronus was. There had always been a fierceness about his wife that drew him to her, a strength that went beyond her magical ability. She often reminded him more of a lioness or bear than a gentle deer. She looked dangerous.

"I know what the wards are. They're security, all right, but they're not protective." Her voice was tight, and James watched as her jaw tightened with each word. "They're alert wards."

His stomach turned over, and the mixture of betrayal and cigarette smoke made him want to throw up.

"Dumbledore will be notified if we die," Lily said, flicking her cigarette into the flowerbed. "When we die."

"We won't . . . That's not going to happen."

"He's done nothing to stop it. Why are we still here? Everyone knows where we live. From what they've told us, the Fidelius that Dumbledore is supposedly working on won't even keep us safe. And why these wards? He doesn't care whether we live or die, James, he only wants to know when it happens. So he can take our baby. So he can preserve his fucking prophecy!"

He expected her anger and the accidental magic that would come with it. James felt sick from keeping his own in check, but he was afraid of hurting those he loved if he let it loose even for a second. The air around them crackled from the intensity of her anger, and James's attention was drawn to the ground where the grass beneath her bare feet began to die. On instinct, he tossed his cigarette and took her hand, feeling a sharp pain similar to the hexes she used to throw at him back in school when he stepped out of line. Ignoring the sting, he pulled her tight to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair.

"I don't know what Dumbledore is planning," he whispered. "I thought I could trust him. He wants Voldemort gone. I'm willing to sacrifice anything to keep you and Harry safe, but . . . I won't do it for anything less. I want our world safe, but not at the expense of my family."

There had been times, he was ashamed to admit, that he thought about what Voldemort offered him. It was no secret that the Dark Lord had propositioned him several times to join the cause. Sirius too. Even Remus had once been offered a place, though far below with his "own kind." James had never once wavered in the face of Death Eaters and Dark Magic. He would never consider joining them. But he had thought about leaving. Taking Harry and Lily and running as far as he could. He wanted to fight, but he wanted his family safe more. Until now, it felt like siding with Dumbledore had been the safest option.

"What do you want to do?" he asked Lily, not trusting his own decisions right now. He felt like he had put them in this position due to his blind allegiance. "I'll follow your lead."

Sniffling, with her head still pressed to his chest, Lily muttered, "I want to know what the hell Dumbledore was thinking. I want to know what he did in their timeline. I want to strangle my sister. And kick Vernon right in the cock."

Unable to stop himself, James chuckled against the top of her head.

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

"I'm not having a laugh, Potter."

Pulling back and kissing her forehead, James smiled softly. "I know you're not. And I'll Apparate you to Surrey myself just as soon as we can leave Godric's Hollow. I'll even buy you brand new dragonhide boots for the job. Pointy ones."

Lily laughed, angry tears streaking down her cheeks, turning the momentary smile into a frown. "I hate her. I thought maybe one day she would change . . . but not after this. I'll never forgive her." She shook her head emphatically. "I'll forgive Peter before I forgive Tuney for this. For all we know, he was scared for his own life. Petunia had no excuse. None."

James nodded but said nothing. Hearing that Peter had betrayed them was unthinkable, and he refused to condemn the man who was like a brother to him, not without hearing his side and finding out why. Now, however, James was finding it very hard to remember where he had stashed his mercy and forgiveness. He decided right then not to tell Lily about what Draco and Hermione told him. If she wanted to know details, she would ask for herself.

"Harry went upstairs with . . . Harry."

Lily wiped at her face and sighed. "God, I hope he doesn't think he did anything wrong. I left because I didn't trust myself not to start screaming, and I figured that was the last thing he needed if he'd been raised by . . . Goddamnit, James."

"I know. I know," he said with a heavy sigh. "Remember how Sirius was after hols? Maybe we treat Harry like normal. Don't pretend that we don't know what we know, but . . . I wouldn't draw much attention to it. He's probably embarrassed."

James recalled several instances where Sirius would have an angry outburst if his family situation was mentioned. The first time James had seen a bruise and asked about it, Sirius had reacted by punching him in the mouth. It was the only time they had ever physically fought, and the night ended with both of them bloody and crying. Sirius never liked to be confronted about what happened at Grimmauld Place, and he loathed pity to the point that he considered sympathy the same thing. James did not think that Harry would react violently, but he understood that even if the Muggles were at fault, there was a certain amount of pride involved.

"He's a grown man. Best not baby him," James said. "Just make life better."

* * *

Lily followed James back inside the house, noticing that he slipped the cigarettes back into Sirius's jacket. She did not know why she expected to see everyone still seated at the table, waiting for her to finish her tantrum. Nevertheless, she felt a pang of sadness at the sight of only Sirius and Remus still there.

"Where are they?"

"Upstairs," Remus said, offering her a sympathetic look.

She squeezed his shoulder as she rounded the table, taking note that Sirius was avoiding eye contact with her. _Well, that won't do._

Silently, she moved behind him, squishing herself between his chair and the wall. She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, resting her cheek on the top of his head. Though he rarely spoke of his family other than angry outbursts, drunken rambling, and sarcastic quips, Lily knew that Sirius had grown up in a household devoid of love. She had been at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall when Walburga's Howlers arrived. The red envelopes had come frequently the first month or so until Professor McGonagall had shot a Blasting Hex at one early October, showering the table with red confetti. No one mentioned anything about it ever again, lest they earn a stern look from their Head of House, but it was rumoured that McGonagall had put a charm on the mail wards. Either that or Walburga had just given up. Regulus Black received letters and packages just fine in the years that followed.

Lily sighed with relief when she felt Sirius grip her hands, gently squeezing her fingers.

"I'm so sorry."

"Shush," she said, kissing the top of his head. "James, will you figure out lunch for everyone?" The breakfast plates, she noticed, had already been cleared. There was still time before the next meal needed to be served—if anyone even wanted to eat; she certainly did not have an appetite—but it allowed her husband to keep himself occupied. He was tapping his fingers lightly against the countertop, something she knew he did when he was anxious. If they had more room in the garden and weren't confined within the wards, she might have suggested a short game of Quidditch.

Leaving the boys to themselves, Lily made her way upstairs, nervous about what exactly she wanted to say to Harry. She wanted to follow James's advice and not baby him, knowing that the potential for his embarrassment was high. The last thing she wanted to do was drive any type of wedge between them when she felt their strange relationship and growing bond was already so delicate.

"You have to talk to me sometime, Harry."

Lily stopped at the sound of Draco's voice, feeling guilty that her reaction likely fuelled any animosity between the two.

"On a scale of Potter Stinks badges to dressing up like a dementor and scaring you during your Quidditch match, how angry are you?"

"You're such an arsehole," Harry muttered irritably, but Lily could hear the subtle affection hidden beneath his tone. She had used it for years on James. "And for the record, I hated those badges more than the dementor thing. I wasn't scared. I cast a Patronus, if you don't remember."

"It wasn't corporeal," Draco said with a huff.

"I'm sorry I just walked out."

"No one blames you, Harry," Hermione said. "Least of all your parents."

"They deserved to know," Draco added. "You know they did."

"I know they did, but . . . Isn't there a better time for stuff like this? We're not preparing to fight the Dursleys," Harry argued. "Don't look at me like that Draco."

"What? I happen to think that taking a side trip to Surrey might be a great bonding activity for us all. Merlin knows that I've wanted to go for years, but you'd never let me."

"They weren't even living in Surrey after . . . well, after everything," Hermione said pointedly. "Harry's right. We should be focusing on Voldemort."

"They still deserved to know," Draco said coolly.

"I'm not saying that they didn't, Malfoy—"

"Listen, Granger, you need to—Wait. Hold . . . Hold the fuck still."

"Language!" Hermione snapped. "There's an impressionable child in the room, if you haven't forgotten."

"Shut up," Draco said with a harsh tone.

Lily listened closer, taking another step down the hallway to see if she could peer into the room. The door to her bedroom was cracked slightly. Harry—both of them—were out of sight, but she could see Draco clearly. He stood near the foot of her bed, looking insistent. His hands were outstretched but not far. She caught a glimpse of curly brown hair and assumed that Draco was holding Hermione's face.

"What's wrong with your eyes, Hermione? Is this because of that mate thing?" Draco's words were clipped, but there was an undercurrent of concern in his voice.

Neither Harry or Hermione said a word.

Lily put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, glad that Remus was downstairs and not present for this reveal.

"No," Draco whispered.

"Draco."

"It wasn't Lupin," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Of course not," Hermione said, her voice thick with emotion. "It was someone else. We needn't worry, though; he's dead."

"I did this."

"You did not," Harry said, his voice louder than before.

"I sent us back here, and you were in a bloody forest. Fuck!"

Tempted to intervene, knowing that her baby was also in the room, Lily took a few steps closer to the room. Draco disappeared from her sight, so she gently pushed on the door, opening it just enough to make eye contact with Harry, who looked up at her helplessly from the floor. His head was pressed back against the crib, and her baby's fist was pushed through the bars, resting on top of Harry's head. Draco and Hermione were embracing.

"I'll fix this," the blond muttered quietly. "Between the two of us, we can figure out how to brew Wolfsbane."

"Three of us," Harry muttered.

Draco kicked him in the leg. "We want her to feel better, not poisoned."

Harry let a small smile break his stoic expression.

Lily smiled softly and cleared her throat.

Draco jumped away from Hermione as though she were infested with spattergroit. Lily arched a brow at him curiously, and chuckled. "Thank you for keeping your swears while the baby is sleeping," she said sarcastically—in reality, she thought that maybe _Hermione_ cared more about Draco's language than she did. Growing up with James and Sirius as role models . . . Lily was shocked that Harry's first word had not been "fuck."

Harry leant forward and turned around, likely checking to make sure the baby was still sleeping. Lily smiled as he touched the tiny hand, letting fingers curl around his thumb. The sight gave her a strange feeling in her stomach reminiscent of how she felt in the few hours after Harry was born. After she had been well-plied with Pain Relief Potions, there was a euphoria that followed Harry's birth where Lily thought she might like to have more children. Of course, seeing now that she technically had two . . . and one was old enough to—"Ach." She shuddered, bringing her shoulders up to her ears.

At the strange looks that Draco, Hermione, and Harry gave her, she cleared her throat and explained, "I just realised that I could technically be a grandmother since _you're_ old enough to . . ." She trailed off, a limp hand gesturing at Harry.

His cheeks pinked, but he smiled at her crookedly and laughed.

"Would it put you at ease if I promised to not get him pregnant?" Draco asked.

"Jesus Christ," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes before turning her full attention to Lily. "I imagine you two would like a moment? I'll be happy to take Draco downstairs and keep him occupied. Preferably with a Silencing Charm."

"Thank you," Lily said gratefully. She shared a brief look with Draco. Having grown up with Severus, and being able to pinpoint certain ways that Slytherins liked to cover up their more vulnerable emotions, she caught the way his smirk dipped just a touch when he made eye contact with her. Figuring that it had something to do with any guilt he might feel about outing Harry's secrets, Lily looked away, leaving the man to his feelings. Snakes, she learnt the hard way, never liked to be provoked.

Hermione ushered Draco out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Harry moved to stand, but Lily held up a hand to stop him and sat down on the floor, crossing her legs.

"So Draco knows about Hermione's condition now?"

Harry frowned. "Yeah. I didn't want to tell him. It's her business."

His words obviously had a double meaning. "I'm glad Draco told us," she whispered, taking Harry's hands just as he was about to cross them over his chest.

Still not completely sure of what to say, Lily tried to think of everything she knew about Harry and who he was as a person. Quietly adding up his individual personality traits and quirks as though they were potion ingredients, she smiled when she finally thought of something. Everything she knew about Harry since meeting him told her that he never thought of himself. He was someone who saved others with barely a thought to the consequences for his own well-being. That was irritating and went against everything she wanted for him, but the fact that there were actually _two_ of him could help play to her advantage to get them _both_ through this.

"I need your help."

Harry sat up straight, his pinched lips relaxing somewhat as his expression changed from guarded to concerned. "What is it?"

"I figured that, since he is technically your godfather as well, perhaps . . . that might be too much for Sirius to take on by himself." Lily gestured toward the sleeping baby behind him. "I'd very much like you to help protect Harry." She watched as her grown son turned around to look at the dozing younger version of himself.

When he looked back at her, Lily squeezed his hand. "I don't want him to end up with my sister. I would never want that. James and I have had this plan since before he was born. Sirius is his godfather, but in the case that something happens to him, Remus is next on the list. If the Ministry throws a goddamned fit about him being a werewolf, then I trust either Marlene and Hestia or even Frank and Alice Longbottom. Can you make sure that no one ignores our wishes?"

Harry looked down at their joined hands and put his free one on top of hers as though he were trying to bring her comfort. "What if—and I'm not saying it will happen, because we're going to make sure that there isn't ever a need for it—but what if all of those people are unavailable? What if there's no one left?"

Feeling sick at the thought of everyone she knew ending up a casualty in the war, Lily sucked in a breath. "Never my sister. Never," she said emphatically. "I don't care what anyone says, not even Albus Dumbledore. Harry, look at me."

His brow furrowed, but he kept his gaze on her as she spoke.

"I _died_ for you." When he opened his mouth to object, looking so like a little boy in that moment, she shook her head and cut him off, "No. I died for you. And I know it wasn't a thing that I did in the heat of the moment. I've been planning on . . . I've been preparing. I know what I did that night. I'm your mother; I'm _his_ mother." She gestured to the crib again before cupping Harry's face in her free hand. "I do not want to die knowing that he will have an unhappy childhood. So if there are no options left, I want you take him, and I want you run. I need you to make sure that he grows up happy. That is my wish above all other things. Do you understand me?"

The movements were small as Harry nodded his head, but his gaze was determined and gone was the look of discomfort he had previously been wearing. He no longer looked like an embarrassed child; he looked like his father: brave, protective, and resolute in his purpose.

"Thank you," Lily said as she leant forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead—right against the lightning-shaped scar.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

 **July 22nd, 1981**

Lunch was an awkward affair—in that it _wasn't_ awkward.

Harry had spent his childhood with the Dursleys, trying to put on a facade for the neighbours. That was followed up by years with the Weasleys who always wore a brave—sometimes stubborn—expression when faced with any adversity. He learnt quickly to never draw attention to _himself_ with the Dursleys and to never draw attention to _money_ —especially his own—with the Weasleys. The few times he had offered to buy things for Ron were usually accepted with begrudging gratitude, so Harry had eventually stopped trying to show his appreciation through those means. Instead, he talked about Quidditch, learnt to play chess even though he never really picked it up, talked at length about Muggles with Arthur, and ate up as much of Molly's cooking as humanly possible, because that was something he could do to make them happy.

The meal that followed the news of Harry's childhood was lacking the usual tension he was used to feeling over subjects being purposely ignored. When he and his mother had eventually gone back downstairs to the aroma of lunch cooking, the only person that gave him a sideways glance was Sirius, and it faded once Draco brought up the Wolfsbane Potion.

There was no market for the potion yet, but Remus and Sirius had both heard word about a supposed temporary "werewolf cure" being sold out of back alleys and on black markets. Knockturn Alley would eventually be a place to procure it, but both Draco and Lily shook their heads.

"If we're able to buy such a potion, I'd rather break it down into its individual components before building it back up just to make sure that it's clean and safe," Lily said, eyes full of intrigue and a studious nature that Harry thought could rival Hermione's.

"I don't know the ingredients the way I know others, but I remember seeing various stages of the brewing process. I'd be happy to work with you on it," Draco offered.

Harry had watched with amusement as his mother and boyfriend shared a look of what could only be mutual respect between potioneers—he wouldn't presume to know exactly what that felt like; he had only been a _temporary_ potions prodigy himself.

The rest of the day was spent mostly in quiet contemplation, everyone off in their own corners of the cottage.

Hermione and Lily spent their time in the garden with Remus, looking over the wards and angrily muttering to one another.

James and Sirius took turns looking after little Harry while the other read what few books they had on hand that might offer an advantage in destroying Horcruxes, though both Harry and Hermione were certain that they had already exhausted that subject on their _first_ Horcrux hunt.

Draco read by himself, looking over potions books, of which Lily had in abundance.

Harry spent his day looking through the items he kept stashed in his moleskin pouch, checking that the diadem and Hallows were being kept separately. He was not sure that anything would happen if they were to touch—hell, he'd _been_ a Horcrux for sixteen years and the Cloak of Invisibility never so much as flickered when he wore it—but having things of such importance so close to a bit of Voldemort's soul made him feel uneasy.

Dinner was much like lunch had been, except that instead of talking about the Wolfsbane Potion, they discussed what both Lily and Hermione had discovered about the wards.

Draco had been _livid_.

Harry felt sick to his stomach. Dumbledore was a topic of conversation he never liked brought up. In their own timeline, it was a non-issue, since the man had been dead going on three years. The older he got and the more removed from the end of the war he felt, the more Harry realised how much of a weapon he had been shaped to be by Dumbledore—a means to an end. It made every happy memory of the man sour in his mind, and what was worse, it also began tainting his memories of _other_ authority figures like Professor McGonagall and Hagrid. Though he knew neither of them had anything to do with the planning of his death, it set a precedent for trust issues which had already been fragile thanks to Petunia and Vernon.

He stayed quiet for most of the night, opting to go to bed early, and was grateful when Draco immediately followed him. With the door closed and a Silencing Charm thrown up, Harry broke his own rule about sex in his parents' home.

Though his boyfriend would likely never come right out and apologise for revealing his secrets, tonight he was a bit more forward and eager to please, as though he knew he had something to make up for.

Harry didn't blame him.

The sex at the beginning of their relationship had been almost entirely one-sided because he couldn't look at Draco's chest and see the Sectumsempra scars without feeling the need to make up for it somehow. It actually ended in a fairly epic row that Ron had walked in on, which only added fuel to an already out-of-control fire. Ron and Draco had shot insults back and forth before the truth of the argument had come out, leaving Ron with bright red ears and a desperation to leave the room.

Harry's fingers threaded through white-blond hair, every panting exhale perfectly timed with Draco's movements.

"Christ, that's good," he moaned, feeling the skin of his neck heating up as his stomach muscles began to tighten. Sex—and life—was so much better in the comfort of a well-heated home with clean linens on the bed.

The last time they'd had sex was in a closed down shop off the back end of Horizont Alley inside Weeoanwhisker's Barber Shop. The place had been shut down for over a year because the proprietor had been caught trying to smuggle Muggle-borns out of Britain. After his murder, the Dark Mark had glowed above the shop for a full month as a warning. Most of the other shops on the alley had relocated because of it. The security on the location had not been the best, but there were residual wards bleeding over from Cogg and Bell Clockmakers next door, and Hermione had figured out a way to blend the two locations into one. It offered them safety for one night.

Hermione had fallen asleep in the back office, and Draco and Harry fucked each other in the front of the store; broken barber equipment, broken glass, hair, and old pamphlets on Mudblood propaganda had littered the floor.

Trying to erase the memory from his thoughts, Harry concentrated on the smell of a clean room and the feel of soft sheets beneath him.

"Are you trying to hold back? This is taking forever, and you know that my jaw still clicks—"

Harry's laughter cut off Draco's complaint. "You always bitch about your jaw. Yes, I know that it clicks because Hermione punched you _one time_." Nevermind that her fist had broken his _nose_ , not his jaw. "Come up here."

As Draco crawled his way up Harry's body, rubbing his nose lightly against the dark stubble beneath his jaw, Harry sighed, letting out a heavy breath and relaxing against the mattress.

"Oh, are we done then?" Draco muttered sarcastically, but Harry could feel him shift against his side, stretching with limbs splayed in various directions before pushing his face up under Harry's chin much like a cat would.

It was nice to see Draco unwind in a way that none of them had been able to do in months, maybe years. Harry had honestly lost count. Hermione had been the one to keep track of the calendar long after he insisted that it was pointless. He had only two goals: keep Draco and Hermione alive, and kill Voldemort. He never saw anything past that.

But now, being back in a home surrounded by loved ones that he never thought he would see again and his parents, whom he could not even remember without nightmares following the memories . . . Harry was beginning to have hope again.

"It's just been a long day. I have a lot on my mind."

Draco must have been truly tired as no sarcastic comment followed. Harry had all but expected a "that must be a new feeling" or at the very least a "you don't even do half the thinking that I do, Potter."

Instead, he heard soft breaths and felt puffs of air push out against the sparse black hairs on his chest, letting him know that Draco was already easing into sleep. Harry envied him for the ability to doze off so easily, especially after everything they had been through. Hermione had been a bit of an insomniac even before Voldemort came back at the end of their fourth year, and Harry had trouble sleeping sometimes due to either nightmares or his inability to get comfortable for any length of time—something he blamed on sleeping in a cupboard for ten years. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to drift into slumber as though he knew that it was the only kind of peace he would get compared to the waking hours.

Harry let the soft blond hair tickle against his chin and lips, moving his face back and forth as the feeling soothed him. He did not regret Draco sending them back to save his own life. It gave them a chance to fix almost everything that Voldemort had done. It also, Harry hoped, gave them a chance at a fresh start and a new life in a world that had not fallen apart.

Just as his own eyes began to close, he whispered softly, "Love you."

* * *

 **July 23rd, 1981**

Harry sometimes wondered if the various events of his life had taught his body how to respond to stress in odd ways. He had never slept well, not until Hogwarts, but even then he struggled some nights. However, after any stressful event—everything from a Quidditch injury to a confrontation with Voldemort—Madam Pomfrey had been there with charms to ease his pains and potions to help him heal. In the safety of the Hogwarts hospital wing, Harry slept easily. Perhaps that was why, after any unusual amount of trauma—having one's parents discover your childhood abuse, for instance—within the safety of his bedroom at the cottage, Harry slept deep and well.

Deep and well, that is, until the blaring sound of music jolted him from his rest.

Blinking rapidly, Harry tossed his arm out in search of his glasses, bumping Draco in the back of his head with an elbow. He did little other than mutter angrily under his breath about having a bony boyfriend and the disgrace that was Muggle music.

Slowly recognising the sounds drifting up from the floor below, Harry relaxed and laughed.

 _Sirius_.

Crawling over his boyfriend, Harry went to grab his wand only to see it tucked beneath the pillow that Draco was snuggling. He sighed, wondering if he had snagged it during the night. Draco had been known to sleep with a wand—they all had really. Harry felt guilty knowing that both of his companions were without wands of their own when, technically, _he_ had _two_.

With a heavy breath, Harry took the Elder Wand with him as he left the room, figuring that he should probably learn how to wield the thing if he were truly its master. A part of him wondered what would happen if he were to face off against Dumbledore—as insane as that sounded. Would each individual Elder Wand react as though it were one and the same? Or would the two wands fight and collide, much like his original had done with Voldemort's?

Considering how loud the radio was blaring, Harry half expected to find all the occupants of the cottage in the kitchen, but instead he only found little Harry sitting in his high chair at the table, laughing as Sirius sang in front of the cooker while making breakfast.

 _"_ _'Cause I'm back on the track. And I'm beatin' the flack. Nobody's gonna get me on another rap,"_ Sirius sang into a wooden spoon as though it were a microphone. He spun around, grinning at Harry standing there.

Harry's eyes widened.

There, perched on Sirius's shoulder like a parrot, was a grey cat. He did not know why it hadn't occurred to him to ask about the cat; Harry remembered reading a letter his mother sent to Sirius long ago about how his younger self had tormented the feline with a broom. He thought that might have been an exaggeration, though, because _this_ cat stayed on Sirius's shoulder with what looked like little effort or concern, even as Sirius danced around the kitchen.

 _"Well, I'm back in black. Yes, I'm back in black!"_ Sirius leant toward little Harry with the wooden spoon. The child reacted by screaming excitedly and reaching for it. Sirius pulled it away just in time, and turned to Harry, holding the spoon out for him to sing to.

Awkwardly, Harry stared at it.

After a beat, Sirius shook his head. "Oh no. Don't tell me you don't know it?"

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Not my era, I guess?"

Tossing the spoon into a frying pan of eggs that looked close to burning, Sirius pulled his wand from his back pocket, flicking it at the radio and turning the volume down. "Well, it's your era _now_ , and we're going to educate you, mate. Once this Voldemort mess is done and over with, I'll put together a list of concerts to go to at underground clubs that Lily will protest even though everyone knows she'd love going."

The smell of burning food reached him, and Harry instinctively leapt toward the stove, stirring the eggs with a grimace as he tried to save them. "How is no one else up yet?"

"Oh, those lazy sods all got used to me playing stuff like this back at Hogwarts. It wasn't a good morning unless you were woken up by Queen, Bowie, or Ozzy," Sirius said with a smile as he reached for a box of cereal, pouring some on little Harry's plate like one would for a pet. The cat on his shoulder jumped down, sitting on the dining table in front of the high chair, batting its tiny paw at a piece of cereal before eating it.

"I put a Silencing Charm around James and Lily's door so they can sleep a little longer through this," Remus said as he tiredly walked into the kitchen with Hermione following behind. Harry said nothing as he noticed that she was wearing what looked like a man's t-shirt. "You're lucky he's already awake," Remus added, gesturing to little Harry. "Lily would kill you if you woke him with that music."

Before Sirius could reply, Hermione gasped, her eyes alight with sudden, unfiltered joy. "Kitty!"

There were few things that could reduce the normally more-adult-than-anyone-else Hermione to childlike wonder and excitement, but cats were one of those things. Few people in Hogwarts had opted for cats instead of owls, which were more convenient and useful, but Harry remembered seeing her making friends in other Houses just by asking to pet their familiars. Her own cat would snarl, hiss, and claw anyone else, but Crookshanks let Hermione kiss him right on his squashed little face without blinking an eye.

"Hermione, I wouldn't . . ." Remus cautioned as she approached the cat.

She ignored his words, hand outstretched to pet. The cat, however, turned around, arched its back like something out of a cartoon, and hissed before leaping from the table and escaping the kitchen.

The expression on Hermione's face was devastating.

"What happened?"

Sirius gave her a sympathetic look. "Sorry, love. She doesn't care for Remus either. You're going to find that animals, in general, will react to you a bit differently than you're used to."

Harry could see the information strike her as much as a hand across the face would. He wondered if she had already planned on tracking down a younger Crookshanks in a few years when he would be born. "What about Kneazles?" he asked for her, looking hopefully at Sirius. "They're smarter than regular cats."

Nodding thoughtfully, Sirius shrugged. "They might not care. Haven't seen one in a few years, though. Pretty sure they're regulated. Not exactly a pet type."

"I know someone who breeds them with regular cats," Harry said, thinking of Mrs Figg.

Hermione sent him a grateful look as she sat down at the table, tucking in next to the highchair. Remus brought her a cup of coffee, and Sirius sat down on the other side of little Harry, pulling his hair back into a knot at the top of his head, securing it with a wand.

Harry and Hermione shared a look and chuckled softly; Luna used to do the same thing.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Hermione asked when her gaze fell on Sirius's t-shirt.

Harry leant to the side to examine it himself, turning the cooker off entirely after moving the pan to a cold burner. Sirius sat back, stretching the t-shirt out to let them read the faded words _Fanny Magnet_ on the fabric.

"I thought Lily burnt that thing years ago," Remus muttered as he tucked in next to Hermione at the table.

Sirius laughed proudly. "Tried and failed, Moons. Tried and failed." When Hermione stared at him disapprovingly, he shrugged his shoulders. "What? It's not like Harry can read." At her sudden chuckle, Sirius corrected, " _Little_ Harry. Bloody hell, that is getting awkward, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "I offered to change my name, but Mum wouldn't have it."

"You know what this means, Moony?" Sirius asked, a mischievous grin on his face that actually worried Harry a bit. He tried to ignore those concerns as he separated the burnt bits of eggs from the edible before transferring them onto a plate. "Little Harry can now, finally, be called Elvendork."

Almost dropping the plate of eggs as he made his way to the table, Harry's mouth fell open. "Elvenwhatnow?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Some stupid bet he and Prongs made. Whoever lost had to name their firstborn child Elvendork."

"I won," Sirius said emphatically. "And that loser backed out of the bet, blaming it on Lily."

"That's a cruel thing to do to a baby," Hermione insisted. When Sirius looked at her and smiled, she narrowed her eyes. "Don't even _think_ of making fun of my name."

"You'll need a new one anyways," he said. "Your _furry_ name."

Harry watched as Remus pressed against Hermione's side as though offering comfort. For her part, she did not betray any emotion she might have felt at the second reminder that morning that she was now a werewolf. Instead, she sat up straighter and cleared her throat. "Well, what should it be?"

"Gotta meet her first," Sirius said, pushing a few more bits of cereal toward little Harry that were out of his reach. "That's how it's done. We all picked names for each other after the first full moon we spent together in the Shrieking Shack. I picked Moony's, Prongs picked mine, Moony picked Prongs', and we all actually voted on Wormtail."

Either due to their early morning fatigue, the interesting conversation, or the music still playing in the background, none of them had heard the front door open.

"Talking about _me_?"

Harry turned, eyes wide at the stranger in the doorway. Taller, thinner, younger, and saner-looking than anytime he had ever seen him before, Pettigrew almost looked . . . normal. But it was surely Pettigrew. Harry had been given a photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix, so he knew what the man had looked like when he was younger, however, to see him in the flesh was something quite different. _Suspiciously_ different, in fact.

First, Pettigrew was not short, or at least not as short as the twisted, hunched version Harry remembered. He was almost as tall as Sirius, who was shorter than James by just shy of an inch. Remus, by comparison, towered over them all. _This_ Peter Pettigrew, unlike the hideous Death Eater Harry had confronted, was average looking with a bit of baby fat still clinging to his cheeks and belly that added to a look of youth and innocence that Harry was not expecting.

Hermione, too, must have been perplexed by the appearance because she had not said a word or done a thing. Sirius and Remus, on the other hand, stood from their chairs but neither were fast enough to make a move before a silent Stunning Spell shot from Peter's left, hitting him in the shoulder and knocking him to the ground with a thud.

Harry ran toward the body, only to be stopped by Draco, who came swiftly down the stairs with Harry's wand in his hand.

He pinned them all with a cold look, raising a pale brow. "I take it that the Death Eater trap wasn't reset?"

Hermione side-stepped in front of Remus and Sirius—both seemingly stuck to the ground in abject horror—and sighed irritably. "It's been a distracting day. Horcruxes and Hallows, you know."

 _Draco_ and _the Dursleys_ , Harry added to himself.

Sounding sickened, Remus muttered, "Check him for the Dark Mark. _Not you_ , Sirius. Stay back with the baby."

Already knowing what he would find, Harry knelt down beside Pettigrew's unconscious form, lifting the sleeve of his left arm to show the Dark Mark, clear as day. He didn't take his eyes off of the man, not even when he could hear someone retching in the kitchen sink—Remus or Sirius, he wasn't sure. He wanted to reach for the wand in Draco's hand before he remembered that he had the Elder Wand tucked in his pocket. Pulling it out, he bound Pettigrew tightly, this time determined _not_ to let the man escape.

"Granger, do you know those Animagus spells?" Draco asked.

Hermione nodded, taking Harry's wand from Draco as it was held out to her. She flicked it several times, looking like extra effort had to be put in for it to obey her. A blue light fell over Pettigrew's body before sinking into his skin. "He won't be able to transform until that's released. Though, I'm not sure if it has a time limit."

"Are you sure you still want to know why he took the Dark Mark?" Draco asked, looking into the kitchen.

Harry followed his gaze. Remus and Sirius looked ill, heart-broken, and on the verge of tears or violence, he wasn't sure.

Harry sympathised with them. Ron had never betrayed him, but when he left that night during the Horcrux hunt, only Harry's anger had prevented him from feeling the full weight of devastation. Just thinking about his best friend taking the Dark Mark . . . it would be unthinkable. Harry didn't think he could have recovered from something like that. The fact that Remus and Sirius were even still standing was a testament to what they had already endured during the war.

"I need to know why," Sirius muttered angrily. "Why he would do this."

"Oh my God! Peter!"

Harry stood just as his mother barrelled down the stairs, eyes wide. "He's bound and unconscious."

She touched Harry's cheek as she turned toward the kitchen to spot the baby in the highchair, offering Harry a brief look of relief before she pushed past Draco and Hermione to make her way to little Harry.

Turning his attention back to Pettigrew, Harry saw that his father had joined them.

Unlike Remus and Sirius, who had yet to come closer, James knelt by Pettigrew's head, shifting it to a more comfortable-looking angle since he had landed awkwardly. He glanced at the Dark Mark, shuddering with disgust before focusing again on Pettigrew's face as though the arm were disconnected from his friend's body; as though it belonged to a different person.

"Let's find out what happened," James whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I want to know who this man really is in his heart, and what they did to my friend."

"Put him in a chair," Draco instructed James and Harry before looking into the kitchen at Lily. "Do you have any Invigoration Draught? I need to be at full capacity if I'm going to use Legilimency on him. He's not great at Occlumency from what I remember hearing from other Death Eaters—" Sirius confirmed this with a sharp nod. "—but I'm not ruling out that there might be other issues inside his mind. For all we know, he might have been Obliviated."

"What do we do if that's the case?" Remus asked hesitantly. "Can you reverse an Obliviation?"

Harry watched as Draco tensed, knowing that he had been able to do it once before.

"Technically," he muttered coolly. "I did it once to another Death Eater named Rowle that had his memories wiped. Voldemort learnt that an Obliviation can sometimes be reversed . . . with the Cruciatus."

James stood up, looking righteous in his anger. On instinct, Harry stepped protectively in front of Draco, earning a surprised look from his father, who took a moment before holding his hands up. "We're not going to torture anyone. We don't use Dark Magic. We're not Death Eaters."

"Two of us in the room _are_ ," Draco pointed out.

"You don't use Unforgivables," James reiterated firmly. "I don't care about tattoos, I care about actions. We kill only in defence of ourselves and our families. This is war, we're soldiers, that can't be helped. But we do _not_ torture."

Harry nodded in agreement, struggling to bury the memory of how he had used the Cruciatus Curse on both Bellatrix Lestrange and Amycus Carrow or how he had used the Imperius on a goblin inside of Gringotts. He bent down, pulling Pettigrew up with James helping on the other side. Remus brought a chair over for them. After depositing Pettigrew in it, Harry looked up to see his mother whispering to Sirius as she passed little Harry into his arms.

Sirius nodded, casting an angry look at Pettigrew before taking the boy and disappearing upstairs.

Lily stepped forward, handing a small phial to Draco, who sniffed it once before swallowing it.

"Do you think this will help?" Harry asked, offering the Elder Wand to Draco.

"No. You keep that. I don't want that thing for a single second to think that anyone owns it but you."

Draco stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, muttering under his breath about how Occlumency was easier because it only required a person to block what someone else was looking for, whereas Legilimency felt like being thrown upside down into a constantly swirling Pensieve that may or may not even have what you were looking for.

After dragging another chair forward opposite Pettigrew, Draco cleared his throat, pointed his wand at Pettigrew's face, and exchanged a look with Harry before casting, " _Rennervate_."

Small eyes flickered open, but Pettigrew had not even had time to focus his gaze on any one person before Draco was in his line of sight, making eye contact.

" _Legilimens_!"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** This week has been rough for a lot of people, so I figured some of us could use at least a momentary distraction from the stresses of real life. Also, my updates might become a bit more sporadic. If you care to know why, feel free to check out my Facebook page where I've left a message for my readers pinned to the top.

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

 **July 23rd, 1981**

Draco hated Legilimency. It was a dizzying and complicated process that always left him with a killer migraine. The way Voldemort seemed to have a natural talent for it, sifting through a person's mind and memories with swift ease and coming out the other side with seemingly no after-effects, irked him to no end.

After plunging into Peter Pettigrew's mind, it took Draco what felt like an hour to right himself. Being inside someone's head, there was no solid ground on which to stand, so he had to pick through Pettigrew's memories for something strong enough to grasp. He took hold of a repetitive thought, much brighter than any of the others passing through, and gripped it tight, letting it take him along until Draco found himself on a shaky surface. Looking down, he realised quickly that he was standing in a boat—specifically the boats used to ferry first years across the Black Lake to Hogwarts.

Much like a Pensieve, Draco was able to view the memory from various points so long as Pettigrew had been aware of his surroundings. While he could see other boats nearby, some only a few metres away, he could hear none of the conversations happening despite seeing mouths moving. Pettigrew was too focused on the looming castle ahead of them. Draco let his gaze linger only briefly on the scenic view, allowing a split second of that childlike awe and wonder to slip in as he, too, remembered what it was like seeing Hogwarts for the first time.

Unlike a Pensieve, a person's memories were all too often associated with other fleeting thoughts and attached emotions, so parts of the memories blurred into one another, sometimes overlapping. Also, there was a strong sense of empathic transference. Despite recalling his own trip across the lake as one of excitement, Draco could feel anxiety rolling off of Pettigrew in waves.

No one in the boat bothered to pay the boy any attention. Draco could hear some conversations about which students wanted to be Sorted where. A ripple of loneliness fluttered by as though it were movement on the lake.

Draco could sympathise in that moment.

Despite having had Greg and Vince as friends throughout their years at Hogwarts, their relationship had not begun on the best of terms. Draco had grown up rather isolated thanks in part to his father's belief that Malfoys were better than others coupled with his mother's concern that there would be a backlash against Lucius for having escaped Azkaban when other Death Eaters—her own sister included—were rotting there. That kind of suspicion led to a bit of overprotection on her part. When Draco had been dropped off at King's Cross, he overheard Vince's father reminding him to stay by Draco's side "even if he is a spoilt little shit." Draco had not liked the idea of a forced friendship, which was why he so bitterly decided to treat Greg and Vince like employed bodyguards, at least during that first year or two until they opened up a bit more and developed personalities of their own.

It was, in fact, because of them that Draco had been so determined to win over Harry's friendship. He had remembered seeing him in Diagon Alley, having thought that he had given a good first impression. He remembered talking about racing brooms and being excited for the Sorting, though years later, Harry informed him that he had been less than impressive—insulting Hagrid, Hufflepuffs, and generally being a twat. So when Harry rejected his hand of friendship, Draco's first attempt at making one on his own, he had been left with Greg and Vince and let lonely anger fill him up with bitterness. Thankfully, he developed friendships along the way, true ones, but he still remembered the longing that an eleven-year-old Peter Pettigrew was practically drowning in.

The boats docked, jolting a bit as they did, and Pettigrew tried to stand only to be knocked to the side—almost in the shallow water—by two girls. Another boat pulled up next to them, and two boys leapt from the front, landing on the ground with ease. Grins lit up their faces, and one shouted, "On to Gryffindor Tower!" and drew an imaginary sword from his robes. The face of the boy was startling because Draco could recognise Harry so easily, but the subtle differences told him that he must have been a young James Potter, who was, predictably, being followed by a mischievously grinning Sirius Black.

Looking down, Draco noticed Peter smiling at the pair, and a wave of excitement and eagerness was palpable. Oddly, unlike the loneliness and anxiety that surrounded him like a thick fog, Draco tried to hold onto the excitement only to feel it flicker away, drifting almost visibly into the ether, replaced by what felt like an unnatural envy. The edges of the memory suddenly blurred, and all noise grew muffled.

While he had not ever seen one himself, Harry had told him what it felt like to view a fake memory in a Pensieve. But this was not a Pensieve. Draco had no knowledge of how fake memories appeared inside of someone's mind. Generally, even the forged memories of the Obliviated were crisp and clear since they were under no impression that anything in their mind had been tampered with.

Something worrisome stirred in Draco's stomach. James might have been right.

It took him a long time to find useful memories, drifting instead through Pettigrew's years at Hogwarts which were full of flickering moments of happiness, friendship, and loyalty that passed through Draco's fingers like sand leaving behind a thick sense of fear and inadequacy.

Eventually, though it took much longer than he had hoped, Draco found what he was looking for: the night that Pettigrew and Black had been captured by Death Eaters.

Pettigrew was bound to a chair, overwhelmed by fear as Bellatrix levelled a wand in his face, cackling as she jabbed it at his cheeks, silently threatening to stab him in the eyes instead of hexing. She and Rodolphus were saying something, but Draco could not make out the words. Pettigrew's entire focus was on the screaming down the hall, amplified by a charm, no doubt. Fighting against his restraints with tears in his eyes, Pettigrew looked at the blank wall where Black's screams of anguish bled through; Draco felt a flicker of courage that snapped almost violently away as though it had Disapparated.

Watching closely for any important detail, Draco narrowed his eyes on Bellatrix and Rodolphus in an attempt to read their lips. Eventually, the screaming in the other room retreated, and its absence finally allowed for Pettigrew to concentrate on his own captors.

"What a pretty, little, empty head you have," Bellatrix said with a laugh, gripping a fistful of Pettigrew's hair and tugging hard. "I can see so much. So afraid. So determined to hide all those pretty memories from me."

"He doesn't know anything of true worth," Rodolphus said, obviously annoyed. "We'd do better to use Black."

"Blood-traitor that he is," Bellatrix snarled, "Sirius was still taught rudimentary Occlumency. Auntie Walburga insisted on it. Besides, even if we were successful, everyone would eventually suspect him. This little . . . rat, however, will do quite nicely. I bet no one has even noticed that he's missing."

The cold dread filled the memory like a Scottish January, and Draco shivered.

Flashes of other memories swirled around, visible to Draco in the same way that oil was visible when combined with water; little streaks of thoughts and impressions flashed by him. He saw James, Sirius, and Remus throughout their youth, clapping Peter on the back, sharing hugs and laughter, and even moments where bonds were forged through grief and hardship.

Every memory seemed to slip away as soon as Draco tried to make a grab for it.

Two, however, were solid.

Draco realised that with what little talent Pettigrew did have at Occlumency, he was using to cling to these two memories.

Not wanting to tamper with them, Draco studied without touching.

One was of Pettigrew with his arm around Sirius's shoulders. Sirius was angrily wiping tears from his face as he stared down at a photograph in his hand. Pettigrew looked sympathetic as his friend brushed the pad of his thumb over the image. Draco took a chance and studied closer, seeing a baby in the photo. The sound was muffled, but he could hear Pettigrew say, "James is right. You'll see her soon when this is all over. You're right to protect her."

The other memory brightened a touch more, drawing Draco's attention. Lily was asleep in a bed, her hair sticking to parts of her forehead and neck. James put a finger to his mouth, insisting on silence as he grinned and transferred a sleeping baby into Pettigrew's arms.

With a shaky voice, Pettigrew whispered, "Holy shit, Prongs. You're a dad." A moment passed, and Draco could feel the warmth in the memory as though it were glowing. "I guess that makes me an uncle."

Both memories flickered and faded, the colour in them turning grey. A scream so loud that Draco's ears hurt cut through the air, and he looked down at Pettigrew sitting in the chair. Time had elapsed while Draco had been sifting through the other memories. The man was pale and sweaty as spilt blood dried on the floors.

Standing between Bellatrix and Rodolphus was Voldemort, but not as Draco remembered him. No, this monster was very clearly still more Tom Riddle than the snake-faced bastard that haunted Draco's youth. Handsome and charming, the man was _still_ terrifying to look upon. As Pettigrew drifted in and out of consciousness, Draco could feel the appropriate level of fear coming from him.

"Well done."

Bellatrix made a simpering sound at Voldemort's approval. "Has he suffered enough, my Lord? I can do more."

"His mind is weak, but his loyalties are still strong," Voldemort said thoughtfully as he looked into Pettigrew's eyes. "Is Black still alive?"

"Yes, my Lord. Unfortunately," Rodolphus said, looking bored. "It's been five days. I say we be done with him. Black won't break."

Voldemort nodded consideringly but waved his hand in obvious dismissal. "Keep Black alive for now. Another two or three days, and I think Mr Pettigrew here will be perfectly ripe. Once the magic has settled, heal Pettigrew of all his injuries and let him go. But wound Black. Make it hurt."

Draco followed Bellatrix's gaze, which landed on a table of Muggle tools, much to his surprise.

Rodolphus left the room, and soon, Sirius's screaming began again.

While Bellatrix tinkered near the table, Voldemort leant in close enough to Pettigrew's face that Draco could swear that he could almost feel breath on his _own_ skin. Shaking with terror and panic, Peter shut his eyes which blacked out the visual memory for Draco as well.

Still, in the blackness, he could hear Voldemort whisper.

"I'm going to syphon every last ounce of hope inside of you."

With sudden understanding of what had happened to Pettigrew, Draco felt his knees go weak. "Oh fuck."

* * *

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked as she joined Harry on the sofa.

Everyone had spent the first hour watching anxiously as Draco sifted through Pettigrew's mind. Lily monitored the vitals of both men, looking for any sign of trouble and need for intervention. It was understood that if Pettigrew had Obliviated memories, Draco might be searching for some time.

After more than an hour and a half passed by with no signs of Draco surfacing with answers, they all began to soften in their guard. At one point, Lily switched places with Sirius to stay upstairs with little Harry while Sirius settled on the staircase, silently watching Pettigrew from where he sat with a look on his face that had Hermione's stomach in knots. She could not tell whether Sirius felt guilty, sad, or if he was contemplating murder.

James, the ever dutiful friend, stayed sitting either next to Pettigrew or beside Sirius, only pausing in his vigil to ask Lily if she wanted him to help her with the baby. Hermione figured he might have equally spent time sitting beside Remus, but her mate had been pacing around the house the entire time, not taking a single moment to sit down. She tried gently urging him to rest, wondering if he would exhaust himself mentally; she could almost hear the gears in his brain working overtime. After a while, she gave up and took a seat beside Harry, who had been concerningly quiet.

In reply to her question, Harry handed her a photograph. She noticed that the moleskin pouch he kept on him at all times was open; in addition to this one photograph, he had pulled out a familiar album that Hermione recognised as a gift from Hagrid.

"I haven't seen this in years," she said fondly, looking at the picture of the original Order of the Phoenix. "Isn't it funny how they all seemed so . . . I don't know . . . older in this photo? Maybe it's because we had already developed feelings in regards to them as authority figures. But now . . ." She trailed off, looking up at Remus across the room, who had stopped pacing in favour of leaning against the wall, muttering what looked like repetitions of spells quietly to himself.

"I think we have more to worry about, Hermione."

Turning her attention back to Harry, she frowned. "More than Pettigrew?"

Harry tapped the photo. "Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Edgar Bones, and those two are Ron's uncles, Gideon and Fabian."

Confused, Hermione prompted him to continue, "Okay?"

"Moody told me that Marlene died two weeks after this photo was taken," Harry said, his brow furrowed. "But we know that Ron's uncles are dead. Sirius said so when we gave him the list of Death Eaters that had Dolohov on it. Dorcas Meadowes and Edgar Bones are dead too."

Catching on, Hermione looked back at the photograph. "But they're all in this picture with Marlene. And we know that Marlene is alive. But these people died months ago . . . Maybe Moody got the dates wrong?" she suggested and was met with Harry's incredulous look in response. "I know, it's Moody. But what does that mean?"

"Look at Pettigrew in the photo," Harry said, tapping on the picture.

Hermione noticed right away. She had noticed before when Pettigrew had shown up in the cottage. He looked so unlike the man she had met in the Shrieking Shack long ago. He looked normal, almost handsome—not like Sirius, James, and Remus, but in an adorable way. Had she not known who he was and what he was capable of, she might have even been reminded of Neville in the way he had crookedly smiled at Sirius and Remus in greeting.

She had not lingered on the thought much, having assumed that a life lived in Animagus form mixed with exposure to Dark Magic had twisted the man's body to match his heart and soul, but looking at the photograph in her hands, she noticed that the image of Peter Pettigrew supposedly taken before this time looked strikingly different than the one sitting across the room from them. The photograph depicted a man with watery eyes, short in a way that made him look hunched over— _he_ looked like the man she remembered from the future, suspicious and creepy.

Curiously, she looked at the others to compare. As with many old photos, the picture was not the best quality, however, some parts of the image were sharper than others. Dumbledore, for instance, was clear as day. Hagrid and Aberforth, too, looked just as Hermione remembered them. The blurrier images were those, she noted, who had died during the first war. James and Lily could be made out by obvious features like the colour of their hair, and the same could be said of the Prewetts, who were ringers for Fred and George. But Pettigrew, Remus, and Sirius looked . . .

"Sirius has short hair," Hermione said, squinting at the photograph before looking at the man in question sitting on the staircase with his long hair held in place by his wand. In the photograph, Remus was young but wore a moustache similar to the one Hermione recalled—and hated—that he had when he was their professor. "Oh my god!"

Sirius and James looked up, the latter drawing his wand.

Remus was at her side in half of a heartbeat. "What's wrong?"

"It's fake."

Harry let out a sigh, certainly not one of relief. "What does it mean, though? Why?"

"What's going on?" James asked, approaching them. He took the photograph as Harry held it out. "What's this?"

"Do you know everyone in that photograph?" Hermione asked.

James squinted, looking like he was struggling to recall. "That's Alice and Frank, and there's Marlene, I think. Those two kind of . . . Do they look like Gid and Fab to you, Padfoot?"

Sirius looked over James's shoulder. "Hair's spot on, but—Is that Bones? Was I drunk for this? I thought McKinnon swore an oath back at Hogwarts that she'd never be in the same room as Bones? I remember her bitching about it when she found out he was in the Order."

"Then why are they standing right next to one another?" Hermione asked, feeling anxiety tingle just beneath her skin.

"That's not a real photograph," Remus said. "Where did you get this?"

"Alastor Moody gave it to me when I was fifteen," Harry replied, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Told me it was the original Order."

"It is," James said. "I mean . . . sort of. This isn't everyone here. And who's that?"

"Dedalus Diggle," Hermione answered.

James shook his head. "I know the name, but I've never met the man. Not everyone in the Order knows all the members. Dumbledore holds various small meetings. He and Moody say it's to make sure not all our secrets are known by everyone just in case—" He stopped mid-sentence and looked behind him at Pettigrew. "Just in case there's a spy."

"Why would Moody give you this?" Sirius asked. "And what the fuck is wrong with my hair? I haven't had hair that short since just after Hogwarts when McKinnon hexed me. Took a full week for it to grow back."

Taking the photo and letting her focus linger on Dumbledore, Hermione placed the pieces together and sighed. "I think it was to get you on board with the Order and its mission, Harry." At his confused expression, she clarified, "Think about it. That was the summer when Dumbledore wouldn't let us write to you. And that whole year when he wouldn't talk to you . . . But Moody did. The rest of the Order, aside from Mrs Weasley, did. You had been purposely put aside and kept in the dark about Dumbledore's actions, and then Moody just happens to find a photograph of your parents and everyone else connected to them? People who fought and died, who sacrificed their lives for the Greater Good."

Harry's face fell. "Motivation," he said, looking sick. "They fabricated it to give me something to connect with. It would make me trust the Order but also remind me that other people had willingly fought and died against Voldemort."

"So _you_ would too," Hermione whispered.

"Those sick fucks," Sirius muttered angrily. "What the bloody hell!"

"We can't trust Dumbledore or Moody," Harry muttered, standing up and snatching the photograph angrily. "We can't trust the Order of the Phoenix. Who the hell can we trust outside of this house?"

"Who can we trust _inside_ of it?" Sirius asked pessimistically, looking at Pettigrew.

As if on cue, Draco gasped loudly, pulled from Pettigrew's mind.

Pettigrew made a pained noise as his head lolled to the side.

Harry rushed to Draco, helping him to stand. "What happened?"

With his eyes squinting, likely against a headache, Draco gripped Harry's collar and sighed. "You're really not going to like what I found."

"Why?" Hermione asked, not at all surprised when she felt Remus take her hand.

Draco took several calming breaths until colour began to return to his cheeks. He slowly looked around the room before his full attention landed on Harry. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. You couldn't have saved him by that point even if you _had_ known."

Hermione bit her lower lip, already seeing the expression on Harry's face change.

"James was right?" Sirius asked, looking hopeful for the first time since they had told him about Pettigrew's betrayal.

Draco met his gaze and nodded. "Voldemort broke him."

* * *

Pettigrew had been placed under a Sleeping Charm, mostly because spending so long having his memories rifled through was stressful both mentally and physically. Harry had gone up himself to tell his mother that Draco was finished and that they needed to have a meeting. Luckily, little Harry was going down for a nap, so they only had to wait for him to fall asleep before Lily came down to join the rest.

Quickly, Harry filled her in on the photograph and what they suspected about Dumbledore and Moody. Unsurprisingly, she was furious. It was the only thing since Pettigrew's arrival that made Harry smile. Somehow, despite her age and size, Lily's anger made him feel oddly protected.

When everyone was situated on the sofas, Draco cleared his throat.

"It's called Pandora's Box," he said. "One of Dolohov's creations. Unfortunately for him, it takes an immense amount of power to place it, and Dolohov was just shy of being able to cast it himself. Voldemort, on the other hand . . ."

"What does it do?" James asked, leaning his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

"Just like the mythos; all of the evil in the world was released upon humanity, and locked inside was hope."

As usual, Hermione must have figured it out before the rest of them; Harry heard her suck in a sharp breath, and she reached out, clutching his arm.

"It takes your experiences and memories and filters out the good. It locks those inside the box. What you're left with is . . . well . . ."

"All the worst memories and thoughts a person has," Remus murmured.

Nodding, Draco continued, "The clever thing is that it's a process. It doesn't happen all at once. It wears a mind down."

Harry felt sick. He remembered seeing Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack. He had been terrified, weak, pathetic, and begging for his life. There had been nothing good in him; there had almost been nothing _human_ in him.

"How do _you_ know about it?" Sirius asked.

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and straightened his posture. "Because I was threatened with it. When I went home for Christmas sixth year, Voldemort was none too pleased with my progress." At his slip, he cringed, and Harry could see everyone looking at him curiously. Sighing, Draco said, "I'd been tasked with figuring out how to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. And . . . killing Dumbledore.

Before anyone could say anything, Harry jumped in. "He didn't. I was there, and Draco didn't kill anyone."

Draco pinned him with an annoyed look, but Harry ignored him. He would defend his boyfriend if he wanted to.

"Anyway," Draco said irritably, "the Cruciatus can eventually _damage_ a mind, which would not be beneficial when you need a person to think. But if you take away what's important to a person, it can be quite motivational. Voldemort threatened to put a Pandora's Box in my mother's mind. Not even an Occlumens of her calibre would have been able to fight it. If successful, it would have turned her love for me to hate. She would be as horrible and mental as Bellatrix."

"Mental?" Lily asked.

"It breaks a person after prolonged use. I only knew of one person they'd used it on: Crouch."

"Junior," Hermione said in understanding. "He was insane. I mean . . . I guess we all assumed it had been Azkaban that did it, but he couldn't have actually been in there for more than a year or two, right?"

Harry nodded, remembering what he knew about the man from stories and Dumbledore's Pensieve.

"I think they tried it on Crouch first to make sure it worked," Draco said. "From what I remember hearing, he was a loyal Death Eater. I could see him eagerly offering to be a test subject. There's no saying how long he had it in his mind, though, or how it differs between people who fight it and those who are willing."

"Peter really did betray us?" James hesitantly asked.

Draco took in a breath and slowly let it out. "I believe so, but not for the reason everyone suspected. His mind has been altered. The spell has _literally_ turned his friends into enemies in his mind. Love to hate. Trust into terror. He walks into a room and experiences friendship, but then those memories get sucked away. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the pull. I saw some of them snap away from his thoughts as quick as Apparition. He's . . . he's _trying_ to hold on."

Sirius licked his lips, wringing his hands together. "How do you know?"

"Because they're taking all of his good memories, but he's clinging to at least two with every bit of strength he has. Memories of Harry," Draco said, pausing just for a moment to look at Sirius, "and his knowledge of your daughter."

Harry watched as Sirius's eyes widened.

"Do they know—?"

Draco shook his head. "Believe me, if Bellatrix knew about Lovegood— _Luna_ —I would remember. From what I recall, Pettigrew never . . ."

Making eye contact with Draco, Harry shook his head. The last thing they needed right now was for Sirius to find out that Luna had been captured by Death Eaters and held prisoner at Malfoy Manor where both Bellatrix and Pettigrew had been. "Draco's right. There were plenty of chances for him to reveal his knowledge about her. Bellatrix wasn't quiet about the family members she had a vendetta against," he said, thinking of Tonks. "Luna's still safe."

"Can Peter be Healed?" Lily asked after Sirius relaxed a bit. "What can be done? Do we need to take him to St Mungo's? Get an Unspeakable? Can _you_ do it?"

Draco nodded. "I can. But . . ." And he looked at James. "It will hurt. A lot. Much more than when they placed it."

"How did it happen?" Hermione wondered.

"Torture," Draco replied. "They hurt him until he was exhausted enough for his mind to be unfocused."

"Cruciatus?"

He shook his head. "You can test for that, and the after-effects can last for quite some time. They did it all by hand. No magic. Broke his bones, cut his flesh, and then just repaired it all with magic to do it again."

"Large breaks and wounds take potions and spells that would have left evidence," Lily argued. "Peter barely had bruises."

His face pinched, Draco quietly said, "Small breaks can hurt just as badly."

Head in his hands, James sighed. "What did they do?"

Harry shook his head as he looked at Draco. It was not necessary for them to know. Harry wasn't sure _he_ wanted to know. But Draco narrowed his eyes, looking resolved. "From what I saw before he fell unconscious and lost the memory of whatever happened next, they drove iron nails into his kneecaps." Hermione pulled away from Harry, burying her face against Remus's side. Lily gasped, covering her mouth; Harry could see her eyes watering. "It's a bad break, but a well-taught Episkey can fix it."

"I'm going to be sick," Sirius muttered.

Running one hand over Hermione's hair and squeezing his own knee with the other, Remus asked, "Can we trust him when you . . . fix this box thing?"

"Brew some Veritaserum," Draco suggested—demanded, really. "And I'd read up on Unbreakable Vows while you're at it, especially since we now have issues with your Order people; not that I'm the least bit surprised," he said bitterly. "It'll take several hours for me to let the memories out, and that's _if_ they don't fight me. When he wakes up, if he's not irreparably damaged by this, he should be more than willing to make a vow, if he's as good a man as you claim."

James finally looked up. Harry turned away, unable to withstand the sight of tears in his father's eyes. "And if not?"

Harry let out a shaky exhale, trying as hard as he could to bury the image of a silver hand choking Peter Pettigrew to death. "We have to have hope."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N** : Thank you to everyone for your patience on this. I am still putting most of my focus on Reclamation of Black Magic right now, but from time to time, when I need a break from it, I come back to this story to try to work things out. I can't promise any type of regularly scheduled updates, but I will be working on A Bit of Sky in between chapters of RoBM.

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

 **July 24th, 1981**

Draco spent well into the night working his way through Pettigrew's memories. Everyone else took turns keeping watch over the both of them, though Lily spent her time taking care of little Harry downstairs. The room that Harry and Draco had been staying had been vacated—sleeping arrangements were to be determined later—and Pettigrew was set up in the bed there.

Determined to make sure the Marauders got a decent night's rest amid the crisis, Hermione offered to keep watch after midnight, outright ordering Remus, Sirius, and James to get to bed. Harry stayed in the bedroom with Hermione, silently holding Draco's hand.

"I should have—"

"Don't," Hermione said, cutting him off. "Harry, whatever Pettigrew is at this point in time, he was vastly different by the time we'd met him. He was insane. You saw that in the Shrieking Shack. No matter how it was done, at that point, he was Voldemort's loyal servant, even if he didn't remember why."

She felt sick just remembering that night in the Shack. The three Marauders had looked so vastly different from how they looked now: Remus had been skin and bones after years in solitude dealing with his lycanthropy. Sirius was gaunt, his eyes hollow except for the light of rage and madness hidden behind the darkness. Pettigrew, too, had looked wretched, almost diseased.

"He murdered Cedric," Hermione said, trying to drive the point home. "He murdered him without pause. No hesitation. You said so yourself. There was nothing you could have done at that point. He was gone."

Harry looked up at her miserably. "So many innocent people died that I could have saved."

"Not him. Not then, Harry."

She watched as Harry sighed, squeezing Draco's hand gently before he stood up, groaning. "I'm not useful here. Nothing I can do to help him, and I think I'm just making it worse on myself by watching this."

Nodding, Hermione smiled sadly at him, grateful that he was self-aware enough to take himself out of the situation. "It will be okay," she said, reaching out and grabbing his hand as he opened the door.

"I hope so," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I'm going to just go downstairs since there's nowhere to sleep. Not sure how we'll—"

"We'll figure it out when we need to." She looked back at Draco, sitting still as a statue in a chair beside Pettigrew. "I'll let you know when he comes out of this."

Two more hours passed slowly before a knock on the door interrupted the silence in the room. When Remus poked his head in, Hermione looked up, offering him a tired, but reassuring smile. He looked terrible, clearly having not slept much. "How're James and Sirius?"

Remus sighed, looking closer to the age that she remembered him than he had since she'd come back to 1981. "Sirius is finally asleep, and James agreed to take a Calming Draught. Don't understand why. He's the calmest of all of us, all things considered. I think he just didn't want to take a Sleeping Draught, and this was the next best thing. He's not really asleep. Just dozing in and out."

She reached for his hand, smiling when he took it. She tried to push her magic out toward him, hoping to nudge that connection they had now due to their wolf mate thing. She was depleted herself, but she was tempered by war, and Remus always gave too much of himself in every situation. He didn't keep reserves for himself the way she did. "I need you to sleep."

He shook his head. "Not sure if I can. Not with this happening."

"If it doesn't turn in our favour, I will need you when Pettigrew wakes up," she said, trying to reason with him. "I can't trust Sirius to stay in control, and everyone else is . . ." She wanted to say "emotionally compromised" but the same could, of course, be said of him. "I can handle Harry and the others, but I only trust you to be able to contain Sirius."

It was mostly true. She didn't really know how to handle James and Lily Potter. She didn't know them. As experienced as she was with taking care of Harry in times of duress, he was not his parents. While Draco could be trusted in a crisis—something she still found slightly funny—Sirius was unpredictable, and Hermione hated unpredictabilities.

"Please, Remus," she said. "I need you to do this for me. I need your strength."

He squirmed a little, shifting on his feet before stepping closer to her, pressing his nose to the top of her head. "I don't like sleeping without you. Strange."

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and exhaled. "I know the feeling."

"I'll go."

She held onto his hand just a touch longer than she'd planned on, and he halted in the doorway, turning back to smile at her once more before his gaze turned to his friend on the bed, still unconscious. His smile faded into a veiled expression that looked like he was trying to hide pain, or anger—likely both. "I'll be in our, er, the other room."

More time passed. Hermione couldn't tell how much, as she had stopped looking at the clock on the wall behind her hours ago. It seemed like an eternity, but finally Draco moved. He let out a grunt of discomfort before slumping down in his chair.

Hermione was out of her seat in an instant. "Draco?"

"Don't . . . coddle me," he groaned irritably, bringing a loose hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, that hurts."

"Is it done? Is he fixed?" She looked down at Pettigrew, who seemed less unconscious than before: previously he seemed to be in a coma, now he appeared to be slumbering. His eyelids fluttered as if he was prisoner in a nightmare from which he tried to escape.

Draco winced as he stood from the chair, bracing himself on Hermione's shoulder. "Box is broken," he said. "There was a lot of damage, but I'm almost positive that I found every last ounce of the curse. There's no way of telling how much he remembers or if this has irreparably damaged his personality. We'll only know for certain once he takes the Veritaserum."

Gesturing to the phial on the table alongside several Pain Relief Potions, Hermione said, "Lily kept herself occupied."

Without another word, Draco snatched one of the Pain Relief Potions and quickly downed it. This was a shock to her, as Hermione knew how much he hated the way they made him feel; that meant that his trip into Pettigrew's head had been more difficult than originally planned. "Will the Veritaserum work on him since he's—"

"I broke his Occlumency shield," Draco said, gagging at the aftertaste of the potion. "They've clearly not figured out how to add mint yet. Bloody savages."

"You broke his Occlumency shield?"

"What little he had was being used to protect those memories of Harry and Lovegood." He stretched his arms above his head. "That's still weird, by the way; Lovegood being related to me. Although, the Black family instability certainly explains why she was off her rocker."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione gently shoved him instead of punching him in the shoulder, which was what she really wanted to do, had he not been recovering from the ordeal of destroying the Pandora's Box. "Should I remind you that you are a member of that insane family?"

"I'm clearly a magical anomaly," Draco said. "A miracle, even, if you'd like."

"I would not say that."

"The Veritaserum will work." He looked back down at Pettigrew and sighed. "I actually feel bad for him, you know. I spent more time with him in our future than either of you did. There were times I actually wished that he would annoy Voldemort enough to get himself killed. At least then, he'd be put out of his misery. Still, I wouldn't trust him. Not yet. Not until enough magic proves that he's no longer a traitor."

"Harry's downstairs," she said. "Go let him know that you're fine. I'll stay here until he wakes."

Draco eyed her, and she glared back at him until he raised his hands in surrender. "If any of them find out that I left you in here alone, I'm going to say that you Imperiused me out."

"Go. Eat something. You look like hell."

The moment the door closed behind Draco, Hermione took the Veritaserum and pried Pettigrew's mouth open. He didn't need to swallow it, just a few drops on the tongue would do the trick. He groaned in pain when she opened his jaw, clearly near consciousness, which meant that she needed to work quickly. Only three drops needed to be administered, but Hermione put in ten, just to be on the safe side.

Corking the phial, she concentrated on Harry's wand in her hand. Since he had the Elder Wand in case of emergencies, he said it was only fair that she use his when she offered to take up the shift of keeping an eye on Pettigrew and Draco. It took extra effort, especially in her exhausted state, but Hermione focused a Petrifying Charm on his lower half. She wanted him unable to escape, but still functional enough to have a conversation. She was tempted to petrify his arms too, but she couldn't work the spell high enough without paralysing his entire body.

Taking a breath, she aimed the wand and whispered, " _Rennervate_."

Pettigrew's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for breath. His chest rose up and down rapidly as he looked around the room.

Hermione watched him every single second from the shadows in the corner of the room, trying to tap into her new wolf instincts to get a better feel of his every movement. So far, he looked panicked, but not the type of panicked that one would expect after waking up and finding yourself unmoving from the waist down with the aftertaste of potion in your mouth. No, instead, he had the look of panic that Hermione was very familiar with: the look of someone who'd just woken from a terrorising nightmare.

He looked like he wanted to call out for help on instinct, so Hermione spun the wand in her fingers, casting a Silencing Charm around the room.

"You're safe," she found herself whispering softly, if only to calm Pettigrew down so that she could begin questioning him. "You're at the Potters'."

Pettigrew grabbed his head and hissed in pain. "I had . . . Did something happen? I can't feel my . . ."

He almost didn't seem concerned about his legs other than to wonder why. Once she mentioned the Potters, Pettigrew's panic all but seemed to vanish, the concern quickly turning to focus on the pain in his head.

"Tell me about James Potter."

Pettigrew looked up at her then, squinting in the dark of the bedroom. She knew that he had Animagus senses that amplified his sight, especially at night, so the squinting was likely due to the pain still lingering in his head. She decided that if he played nicely, she'd give him the remaining Pain Relief Potion but not before he gave her what she needed.

Without further prompting, Pettigrew blurted out, "James Potter is my best friend. He's the most brave and loyal and good person I've ever known." His eyes widened as the words began to tumble from his mouth. "He's married to Lily, and they have a—" His hands flew over his mouth with such speed that it looked violent. He wrenched his eyes shut tight, and his face turned almost red. Pettigrew made an inhuman sound of anguish, screaming behind his palms.

Hermione's lips parted when she realised that he was trying to not mention Harry.

"What is your name?" she asked in order to break the assault he was doing to himself.

Pettigrew let out a heavy sigh of relief, his hands falling to his sides. "Peter Pettigrew. I thought you said I was at the Potters'? If that's so, why do you ask about James? Where am I? Who are you?"

She slowly stepped into the light. "My name is Hermione. I'm here to find out information. Information that you know, Peter Pettigrew. What do you remember of your first boat ride over the Black Lake?" The memory had been described to her by Draco in vivid detail, especially the way that it altered when touched.

Thanks to the Veritaserum, Pettigrew began to speak. His mouth moved and words came out, but his eyes looked shocked that it was happening. "I was scared. I'd not been excited like the other kids my age. No one sat with me on the train, so I just jumped into a boat that only had three. No one even spoke to me." His eyes scanned the room, looking for a way out. "It was the first time I saw James and Sirius. They were fearless," he said, a small smile coming to his face at the memory only to fade. "But then I . . ."

Pettigrew's eyes widened.

"You what? Did you feel something toward them?"

He sucked in a shallow breath, slowly bringing his hand back to his head. "I don't remember," he whispered. "It's gone."

"The memory?"

Pettigrew shook his head, swallowing down an obvious lump in his throat. "The thing in my head. It's gone." He looked relieved, near tears even, but then his breathing quickened once more. Hermione watched carefully, wand gripped in hand just in case, as Peter Pettigrew looked down at his own arm. "No." His right hand, shaking terribly, reached for the sleeve of his left arm and slowly began pulling it up. All the while, he whispered "No" repeatedly under his breath.

Hermione saw it the moment that the end of the serpent's black tail peeked out from under the fabric. Pettigrew tugged the sleeve back down in an instant, and nearly threw his torso over the side of the bed—his legs still unmoving—vomiting into the bin between the bed and the nightstand.

She waited patiently, trying not to let herself get too emotionally invested. It did not seem like an act, but all of their lives were at risk because of this man, so she could not get sloppy.

The man continued to dry heave in between gut wrenching sobs.

It still amazed her that he reminded her so little of the man she knew from the future. Despite the years and torture that they went through, both Sirius and Remus still looked like themselves, even if their future selves were practically ghosts of the men they were now. Pettigrew, on the other hand, had an obvious resemblance to the Wormtail she remembered meeting in the Shrieking Shack, but it almost felt familial instead, similar to the way that Ron had looked like his father.

The Pandora's Box had ripped Peter Pettigrew apart during the first timeline.

"I didn't . . . I don't want this," Pettigrew said, punching a tightened fist into the mattress.

"Are you loyal to Voldemort?" Hermione asked.

She was not sure what shocked her more: the look of familiar Gryffindor righteous anger in his eyes or the fact that Peter Pettigrew did not shrink in fear at the name. "Fuck no."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Peter nodded, pulling himself back upright into bed, his voice hoarse from being sick and crying so hard. "They took Sirius and got me when I . . . It's all blurry in my head. I can't remember why we were there or even who did it. Death Eaters were hurting Sirius, and then . . ." He reached out, rubbing his knee as though it still hurt.

Hermione knew that his legs couldn't move thanks to her spell, but he could still _feel_ them. She wondered if the pain in his knees still remained after what Bellatrix had done. From the way he responded to touching the joint, she imagined it still hurt quite a lot.

"Then they started on me."

"Are you loyal to the Order of the Phoenix?"

"No," Peter said, gasping in shock as the word was pulled from his mouth by the truth serum.

Eyes wide, Hermione stepped closer to the bed and raised the wand. "And why is that?"

"I only joined because my friends did. I'm not . . . I'm not loyal to a _cause_. I'm loyal to _them_." He sighed in relief, almost as though he were happy to hear the truth of his own answers. He looked down at his left arm again, the relief quickly gone from his gaze. "At least . . . I thought I was."

Satisfied, for the moment, Hermione pulled her chair closer to the bed and took a seat across from Pettigrew. "I've petrified your legs so you can't escape. Don't try to shift into Animagus form either, or you'll only hurt yourself. You really are at the Potters' house. We discovered the curse that Voldemort put in your head the night you were captured."

"It's gone now?" Peter asked.

Hermione nodded. "We have a powerful Legilimens who spent the last day ripping it out of you." At that point, she grabbed the potion from the nightstand and held it out to him. "Pain Relief," she said. When Pettigrew seemed hesitant, Hermione added, "Lily brewed it."

He took the potion without further question, nearly sinking into the mattress as the draught kicked in. "Why can't I remember some things? It feels like certain memories . . . I don't know how to describe it. Like if my memories were paintings, it's almost like someone splattered them with something. Something that melted the paint. I can't pick out details anymore."

"Is it only emotions you're struggling to recall?" Hermione asked. When Peter nodded, she exhaled in relief. "The curse Voldemort had you under was slowly turning your experiences with those you loved into bad memories. Whenever you remembered your friends fondly, the curse took those feelings and twisted them, pulling all the good and securing it away, leaving behind whatever negative emotions might've been there. Envy, anger, fear, sorrow."

She waited in silence, watching the man as he let the words sink in.

Eventually, he asked, "Is it all gone? Am I safe?"

"To our knowledge, Voldemort doesn't know where you are."

Peter met her gaze, his eyes red and watery. "I meant . . . am I safe to be around?"

The earnestness in his eyes actually shocked her for a moment. "You'll be put through several tests to make sure. Someone suggested an Unbreakable Vow." Before she could say another word, Pettigrew threw out his right arm, wrist exposed, but she shook her head. "We'll address that when it's time."

"Did I hurt anyone?" Peter asked, his voice quiet. "Did I kill . . .? Did I . . .?"

Hermione thought of Cedric, but remembered James's determined anger over their initial reaction of Pettigrew, demanding to know how far back they'd have gone in time go to punish the man for crimes he'd yet to commit. "Not to our knowledge, no."

Peter sighed, leaning back against the headboard. "Are my friends safe?"

Hermione nodded. "They are. They're very worried about you."

A small smile crossed his face. "They do that. Are you from the Order?"

Thinking about that question at length, Hermione eventually shook her head. "I suppose I'm like you in that way. I'm not loyal to the cause. I'm loyal to my friends. The Potters included."

Rubbing his eyes, Peter looked like he was choking down another series of sobs. "I didn't _want_ to."

"I can see that now," she said, thinking of Draco being forced to take the Dark Mark. While her Slytherin friend had never been so emotionally demonstrative about his guilt over the mark on his arm, she knew that expression on his face anytime he got lost in his thoughts while staring at the tattoo. It was the same expression that Peter Pettigrew wore now.

"Before anyone else comes in," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "I need to make something very clear. There is more at risk than you are aware, so I can't take many chances with the lives of my friends. You don't know who I am, so I'm going to tell you."

The man turned his full attention to her, looking only a little apprehensive as she leant slightly forward. His eyes widened slightly, and Hermione wondered if he could sense it in her. If he could see the flecks of glowing gold in her gaze. If he could smell the new wolf inside of her, its magic lingering in her blood.

"I set a professor's robes on fire when I was twelve, just because I suspected that he was jinxing my best friend. I tricked a woman into insulting Centaurs right to their faces because she was a threat, and I watched them bind her and carry her into the forbidden forest without a single ounce of regret. Before I could even legally Apparate, I captured an Animagus in a jar, and kept her there for weeks because she'd spread rumours about people I loved. Just rumours."

It was a little concerning, the way she could feel her wolf already, pacing somewhere in the back of her mind. The animal was nuzzling against the edges of her subconscious, soaking up the look of growing concern on Pettigrew's face.

"I've killed Death Eaters," she said plainly. "I've been fighting them since I was sixteen years old. I've survived being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, and I was able to outsmart Antonin Dolohov when he tried to kill me. I was considered the brightest witch of my age, and I have fought trolls, giants, acromantulas, Death Eaters, Boggarts, and I have survived the stare of a basilisk."

She waited a beat, listening as Pettigrew's breaths became rapid once more. "So when I tell you, Peter Pettigrew, that being a werewolf is the least dangerous thing about me, I want you to understand my full meaning."

He swallowed hard.

"If you betray us in word or deed, I'll make what Voldemort did to you feel like child's play."

The room was dead silent for several minutes other than the sounds of quiet breathing. Eventually, Peter gave a sharp nod of his head. "You're not lying about any of that, are you?"

She smirked. "I solemnly swear."

* * *

Sirius was not in an emotionally good place.

The last few days had been a whirlwind for him; he had no idea how James and Lily were coping with everything considering it was _their_ grown kid who'd come back in time to stop a war that they were currently fighting . . . apparently for nothing.

Sirius had adamantly followed James into the Order of the Phoenix, blindly trusting that Dumbledore would be able to rid the world of Voldemort. In school, the rising Dark Lord had only been a rumour, but then some of their classmates went missing, others came back from holidays with stories of murdered neighbours, and some turned into shadows of their former selves.

He tried very hard not to think of Regulus, especially after learning what really happened.

It bothered him to no end, not having the slightest clue what happened to his family in the future. Harry and Hermione clearly knew his daughter but had not said much about her beyond the obvious recognition of her name. The fact that they hadn't known who Pandora was made Sirius believe that even if they _did_ know Luna in their future, they might not have been close enough to ever meet her mother.

It took every ounce of strength in him not to go running to her to check and see that they were both safe. But Death Eaters _had_ to go and cause a stir that week. Hestia had squirreled away with Marlene and her family, so Voldemort knew that members of the Order were running to ground rather than fighting. Sirius hated it, but he also knew that setting just one foot outside the cottage and into public life again would draw all eyes on him, and he would not risk Pandora and Luna's lives.

With little else to focus on, Sirius helped Lily with little Harry when he could, trying to distract the lad with games and toys. When the boy slept, Sirius stayed with James, for the most part, still trying to reteach his brain that Remus could be trusted. Merlin, did he feel like a tit over that. Especially since the _real_ traitor was upstairs having his brain gutted out by Narcissa's kid.

The world, and time travel, was a bloody complicated mess.

He had tried to sleep; honestly, he had. James and Remus were scarcely able to do it themselves, so eventually he just stopped bothering when he woke up the seventeenth time that night. Utterly exhausted, James had finally collapsed. Remus looked like he was minutes away from finally closing his eyes, so Sirius waited and watched. The moment both of his friends were visited by the sandman, Sirius quietly made his way down the hall to the room where they were keeping Peter.

He could hear whispers from downstairs and used his Animagus hearing to eavesdrop. Harry and Draco. That meant that whatever his little cousin had been doing to supposedly fix Peter was done.

Approaching the door slowly with his wand in hand, Sirius tried to listen to see if he could hear anything. He was met with pure silence. Remembering that Hermione had taken up watch, he rolled his eyes. "She thinks a Silencing Charm will keep me out? That's adorable."

He'd been a master of Silencing Charms since third year.

Attempting to flick the bit of magic away as though it were a speck of lint, Sirius was annoyed to find that her spells were actually quite deeply integrated. It was convenient to the war efforts, of course, that the girl was damned powerful, but Sirius was only slightly irritated that Remus hadn't brought home a less troublesome witch. After the war, if they survived it this go around, he was certain that Hermione would put many a stop to mischief making.

Taking time to pull down her charm, Sirius grinned when he could finally hear talking beyond the door.

Peter's voice, at first, sent a cold chill of pure rage through his veins. He had to stop and remember that his future self had ended up in Azkaban, and that doused the fire quickly.

When his supposed friend began to cry, deep horrible sobs, Sirius thought back to Hogwarts. Out of the four of them, none had both parents left alive.

James's were gone, and that had broken Sirius as well. His own father died the same summer as Regulus, and even though Walburga was still alive, she didn't count. Remus lost his mum as well and wasn't very close with his dad any longer.

But out of every parental death, it was Peter who had been dealt the first blow.

While the rest of them had almost been men when they lost their parents, Peter had only been twelve at the time that his father, Evan Pettigrew, died. Shortly after coming back from Christmas hols during second year, Minerva woke them all in the dead of night, instructing Peter to go with her. In solidarity, Sirius, James, and Remus had refused to be parted from their friend, and after the news was given to Peter about his father's potion accident and the fire that followed it, the three friends spent the better part of the night holding Peter as he sobbed his grief out.

Peter's crying haunted Sirius's dreams.

He tried not to feel sad for him now, but he did.

If what Draco said was true, and Peter had been cursed into becoming a Death Eater, then it was Sirius's fault—at least partially. They had _both_ been captured, and even though Sirius had been tortured during his brief visit with Death Eaters, they had used _him_ against Peter. Used Sirius's screams to break him down until they began hurting him too. Sirius had nearly died, something he knew now was just a side plot to allow what had happened to Peter to go unnoticed.

After ten years of friendship, Sirius could not believe that he hadn't even bothered to wonder what had happened to Peter during their capture. He stupidly assumed that they'd just locked him up somewhere for fun and left him to rot, putting all their attention on Sirius instead.

Still, as much as he loved his friend, Harry, James, and Lily's lives were at risk because of him. He couldn't just trust him now based on years of friendship. Not after what they knew.

He continued to eavesdrop on the conversation, stepping back once as the door began to open.

Hermione jumped in shock at the sight of him.

He smirked down at her. "You kept some poor woman in a jar?"

Her gold flecked eyes narrowed at him. "You can't be in here alone with him," she said with a stubborn tone all too reminiscent of Lily when she first put that bloody Head Girl badge on her robes. No fun. All business.

Looking over her shoulder, Sirius made eye contact with Peter. His friend blanched in obvious fear, but then turned his head away. Sirius could still see his face in the reflection of the window. Peter's eyes were shut tight, his face pinched into a painful looking expression. Guilt. Grief.

"I'll get a Dreamless Sleep from Lily's stash," Sirius whispered to Hermione. "He needs to recover from whatever Draco did, and he won't be able to when what's happened will likely haunt him in his sleep."

With a look of shock, Hermione's narrowed eyes softened briefly. "I think that's a good idea, Sirius."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

 **July 24th, 1981**

James spent the night in a fitful sleep; if it could even be called sleep. When he wasn't worrying about Lily and Harry, he was worried about his friends. Remus looked exhausted, as though a rising full moon was fast approaching, and Sirius had that nervous look in his eyes. The same he got back at Hogwarts when his mischief was leading more toward mayhem than a casual prank. It was Peter, however, that James was most concerned about.

He knew something had been wrong. Not before Harry, Hermione, and Draco's arrival, but the moment they told them about Peter's betrayal in their timeline, James couldn't bring himself to believe it. No matter how many fights they got in throughout the years they had been friends, these men were his brothers. Something had to have happened to Peter. Which was why James cursed himself over and over for not noticing sooner that something had happened, had been happening, to his friend.

Logically, he knew that his focus needed to be on keeping Lily and Harry safe, but he had always prided himself on being a caretaker for his friends. Despite it not being his idea, he had been the one to push Sirius and Peter both during their Animagi training, when the former would rush in too quickly and get himself hurt, and the latter would get frustrated with feeling as though he were falling behind. It was James who always came first to Sirius's aid whenever something had gone wrong back at Grimmauld Place. And while they had all gathered around Peter to help him through his grief after the death of his father back in second year, it was James who kept to his side, trying to get him to open up about his feelings instead of burying them the same way that Remus and Sirius both excelled at.

James hated himself for not realising that Peter had been hurt.

He hated himself even more for not realising that Peter could hurt others.

Sirius woke him up, nudging him in the shoulder. James opened his eyes to see a weary Hermione slip in the room and crawl, exhausted, into the bed where Remus was snoring. He felt a bit of relief there, knowing that at least one of his friends was well looked after.

Taking Sirius's hand and using it to pull himself to his feet, James whispered, "Everything all right?"

Sirius shook his head. "I don't know, Prongs. Peter's awake, though. I gave Hermione a Dreamless Sleep to give him, but he refused."

"What did he say?" James asked, feeling a cold bit of dread slip around his stomach.

"I haven't . . . I didn't go in the room. Not yet."

Sighing with relief, James put a hand on Sirius's shoulder, glad that his best friend hadn't done anything reckless. "Will you check on Lily and Harry?"

"Which one?" Sirius asked, his smirk looking tired and forced.

"Fuck off," James said with a half-hearted smile of his own, pressing his forehead to Sirius's briefly before squeezing his shoulder and leaving the room.

"Prongs?"

Turning back, James met Sirius's stare. "Yeah?"

Sirius paused, looking down. "She said the Veritaserum worked. Draco broke whatever those fucks did to him. But just . . . don't trust him. Not yet. Please."

Nodding, James continued his way back toward the bedroom, nudging the door open only to see Peter on the bed, curled up with his back facing the door. Despite the fact that he had eventually caught up with the rest of them during their growth spurts in school, Peter had never reminded James more of the little boy he'd met at Hogwarts.

Clicking the door shut behind him, James watched as Peter's body froze completely still.

"It's me, Wormy."

Peter's shoulders began to shake a little once more, and James could barely make out a whispered, "I didn't mean to."

He tried to remember Sirius's words of caution, but he couldn't help but step closer to the bed. Taking the chair left by the bedside, James sat down and slowly reached a hand out, cringing when Peter winced as he put his palm on the man's shoulder. "You didn't know."

"Should've."

"Well, we should've been paying more attention. Sirius was just so badly hurt that . . . Fuck, that's not a good excuse. We should have checked you over too, Peter. I'm sorry we didn't."

He could hear Peter let out a shaky breath. "Prongs, please don't . . . Please don't apologise to me. Not after what I . . . Fuck, I don't even know what I might've done. I don't remember. I don't. Fuck them. Goddamned Death Eater pieces of shit! And now I'm one of them." When James said nothing, Peter whispered, "I know you saw it. You all saw it on my arm. Didn't you?"

He had seen it. And it made him sick to think about. But . . . he trusted his son. His son who was presently somewhere in his home right now, likely snuggled up with a man who had the same tattoo as Peter. "Remember when we were little, and Remus came back from summer after third year. He had that really bad scar on his back that he kept trying to hide?"

Peter shook his head. "This isn't the same thing."

"It's similar," James said, trying to keep his own breath steady. "Remus was attacked, infected with something awful that makes him want to do bad things sometimes. And because of something that someone else did to him, he has scars."

Peter finally rolled over, meeting James's eyes.

He looked sick, pale, sweaty, and wrecked. He looked worse than James had ever seen him, even after his dad had died. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks stained with dried tear tracks. There were small red spots on his face, and James realised that his friend had probably thrown up. He remembered when Lily was pregnant with Harry, she was so sick those first few months that she'd actually broken a few blood vessels in her face from the strain of throwing up so violently.

"This isn't the same thing as Remus, James," Peter said. "It's not the same. It's not the—"

Standing, James reached forward, grabbing Peter's face. "Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, Wormtail!"

Tears forming again, Peter clenched his eyes shut.

"You tried to protect our children, Pete," James said. "Someone, the person who broke you free of whatever Voldemort did . . . he saw your memories. He told us what was in there. He said you were trying to protect Harry and Luna. You're not Dumbledore. None of us can keep them out of our heads forever if they put us through what . . . Fuck, Pete. You tried to save our kids."

Slowly, Peter opened his eyes. "And how long do you think I would be able to?"

James thought of what he'd learnt about Peter through Harry, Hermione, and Draco. Of the man, the monster, the murderer that his friend had become. Shaking his head, he held Peter in place, pressing their foreheads together the same way he had with Sirius not minutes earlier. "What could have happened doesn't matter now. Because we fixed this."

The door behind them opened up, and James let go of Peter to turn around and catch sight of Harry peeking in the door. "Hey."

Harry turned his gaze from James to Peter, eyes looking hesitant. "Everything all right in here?"

Looking back to Peter, James caught his friend staring at Harry with a confused expression.

"We're fi—" James began to say, but Peter cut him off with, "Harry?"

Harry's eyes widened, and James sat up straight. "What?"

"What?" Harry replied, looking just as perplexed.

"What did you call him?" James asked.

Peter looked back and forth between Harry and James and eventually said, "What did you do, Prongs? Was it a . . . curse or a potion mishap or . . .?"

"What are you talking about?" James slowly asked. "You think that's—?" He gestured vaguely to the doorway.

"I may be coming out of something," Peter said. "And I'm obviously not uncle of the goddamned year, all things considered, but I know your bloody kid, Prongs. As you liked to point out, I spent all my efforts trying to keep my memories of him secure. I'd know Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood on sight no matter what. And that," he said, pointing at Harry, "is your son."

"Well, I didn't accidentally have a potions mishap with my baby," James said, feeling slightly offended. He wasn't that bad at brewing.

"Time-Turner," Harry eventually said, stepping fully into the room, his eyes stuck on Peter. "Pettigrew. Nice to umm . . . finally meet you. This you, at least."

Taking in a slow breath, Peter looked over Harry carefully, every so often letting his gaze drift to James with a similar expression as his Animagus form did when searching for danger. James didn't blame him. As much as he knew the situation they were in wasn't Peter's fault, seeing the man look at his grown son, knowing who he was, had James on high alert, just in case.

"You knew me then? I mean . . . Time-Turner and all?"

Harry swallowed, taking another slow step forward. "I knew you, Wormtail."

"H-How . . . how bad was it? Did I . . .?"

"You're the turning point," Harry said, looking more a soldier than James had seen thus far. "Because of what you did . . ." He stopped, looked down, and sighed. "Because of what Voldemort did to you, everything goes south. Mum and Dad are murdered, Sirius ends up imprisoned in Azkaban, Voldemort is resurrected, and . . . and yes, it all comes down to you."

Several minutes of pure silence hovered in the room. James didn't dare to speak. He didn't know what to say. As much as he was Harry's father, there was no denying that his son was in charge of this moment. He was the fighter in this. He had seen war, truer and bloodier than even James had witnessed.

Eventually, Peter choked out, "Did _I_ kill them?"

"Through your betrayals, yes," Harry admitted. "And you murdered one of my friends. Right in front of me. For no reason other than Voldemort told you to, and because he was there. He was only seventeen years old."

Peter looked down, shame filling his entire expression. James watched as his eyes lingered on his left arm, the tattoo hidden beneath his sleeve.

Harry cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. "But that won't happen now. None of it will. Because you're not a Death Eater, are you?"

His eyes still focused on his left arm, Peter's breathing was slow and shaky. Eventually, he looked up, making eye contact with James first and then Harry. "No. I'm not."

* * *

Peter rested for the morning whilst everyone else had a quiet breakfast together.

Despite the lack of sleep they had, Harry, Hermione, and Draco all looked remarkably better than anyone else. Lily slept uncomfortably in her bed. Little Harry had been sleeping in his crib on his own for quite some time, but she felt she needed to have him right up against her through the night in order to feel safe and in some semblance of control, what with everything that was happening regarding Peter just down the hall. She'd taken one look at herself in the mirror that morning and grimaced, flipping off her reflection when the enchanted mirror made a comment about how she ought to put a little rouge on her cheeks if she wanted to keep her husband happy.

Still, even though she'd seen what she looked like, the way James, Sirius, and Remus drifted into the kitchen reminded her of how they all used to look back at Hogwarts after a night under the full moon. Funny, how she always assumed they'd been out drinking with Hufflepuffs or sneaking into Hogsmeade and having dalliances at the Three Broomsticks. It had taken her far longer than she was proud to admit to find out they were up all night trying to help Remus.

Reminded of how he used to look after the full moon when they were younger, Lily glanced at Hermione, secretly hoping the girl would survive her first transformation with as little pain as possible. Draco had been a great help for that. He and Lily had sat down to try and deconstruct what he knew of the future potion called Wolfsbane. They were still far behind where she had hoped to be, and Peter's arrival had only delayed things further; especially since none of them could leave the cottage to fetch fresh ingredients without arousing suspicion or getting killed.

She made breakfast, little Harry perched on her hip and sucking on a biscuit that was turning to mush in his mouth and his hands. Normally, she would have set him down and washed him clean, but this morning, she didn't even bother stopping when he took a fistful of her hair in one of his dirty little hands. Scrambled eggs and toast was all she could rally herself to make, knowing that she'd likely burn any meat from distraction were she to attempt it.

Silence filled the room, only ever interrupted by the sound of scraping forks on plates and cups being set back down on the table.

She couldn't bring herself to eat.

James and Sirius poked at their plates, taking the occasional bite. Remus and Hermione, thankfully, were eating more than anyone else, but mostly at one another's quiet urging. Lily watched in quiet contemplation as Draco dutifully buttered a piece of toast for Harry, taking a bite before passing it over and earning an affectionate eye roll in the process. They looked so young and innocently in love in those moments. It felt like there was an ease of domesticity to them. But then her gaze would linger on their scars.

Harry had many more than Draco, but there was a cut above the blond's eye, bisecting right through the brow. He didn't bother with long sleeves since they all knew about his Dark Mark, and Lily could easily see the wound from the centaur's arrow was healed over nicely, but hex and curse marks left behind lingered on his skin as well. Nothing, thankfully, as horrendous as the one that Hermione had on her arm and just below her throat. Draco scratched at his collar bone, and Lily could see white scars peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt, stretching down beneath the fabric. From what she could see, it looked like someone had taken a sharp knife to him over and over again.

Still, Harry looked worse than them all.

Lily tried not to seem obvious as her gaze raked over her son's body. The mark on his forehead was most prominent, though he'd yet to say much on what had happened other than it had to do with Voldemort. There was an ugly, deep scar on the inside of his forearm, burn marks along his arms and legs that matched ones Hermione had. She'd seen it only once the first night he had been there when she went to fetch him some clean clothes out of James's wardrobe, but Harry had a twisted scar in the centre of his chest in the shape of an oval.

As he brought his glass of pumpkin juice to his lips, Lily caught sight of a scar on the back of his hand. It looked like words. Squinting, she made them out just as light from the nearby window briefly flashed over him: _I must not tell lies._

"We need to know everything," she blurted out, trying to temper her growing rage. "Everything about where you come from and what happens in this war. You've given little details here and there, names of Death Eaters, and generally what happens to us . . . though without details."

Harry flinched and looked down at his plate.

"We need to know everything. Every single moment."

"I don't know if that will help," Hermione whispered, casting a short glance at Remus. "We should try to keep in good spirits."

Annoyed, Lily turned her attention on Draco, figuring he would be the easiest to get the truth out of. When he made eye contact with her, she let the corner of her mouth turn up a little in quiet victory.

"What do you want to know?"

James set his glass down hard on the table. "If we're going to do this, then we're all going to hear it."

Making eye contact with her husband, she already knew what he meant.

"James," Sirius began, looking frustrated, "we don't know if we can trust—"

"He's not leaving the cottage," James cut in. "But Peter needs to know as well. He needs to be reminded of what we're fighting for and what we all stand to lose in this."

Not knowing how she felt about the Peter situation, Lily stood up, tugging her baby against her side with one arm and picking up her plate with her free hand. "I'll go put him down. Everyone meet upstairs."

* * *

"Spare no details," Lily said, making eye contact with Draco, even as Harry gave her a pleading look. "Harry, I'm sorry. I don't want you to relive any of it in your memories, but better that we know so we can do what's possible to prevent it."

They'd gathered in the room with Peter, who was still confined to the bed, though now permitted to sit up. James sat on one side of him with the other men in the opposite corner of the room, leaning against one another. Lily perched on the arm of a nearby chair, whilst Harry, Hermione, and Draco stood at the foot of the bed, looking haunted.

"Dumbledore will approach you," Harry said, looking at Lily and then James. "He'll offer to put a Fidelius Charm on the house."

"You said that wouldn't work, though," Remus replied questioningly.

Harry nodded. "It didn't. Dumbledore cast the spell with Sirius as the Secret Keeper, but . . . and I can only speculate because I never really heard much about exactly how it happened, Sirius was being targeted. Everyone would know that you would choose him to keep you safe," he said, looking at James. "And so you changed the Secret Keeper without telling anyone. Dumbledore never knew until it was too late."

"Neither did you," Hermione whispered, looking at Remus. "From what we know, you stayed with the werewolf packs until Dumbledore called you back. Until it was too late. We've already disrupted the timeline because of that fact alone. You shouldn't have come home when you did."

Lily looked over James's shoulder and made eye contact with Peter for the first time. He glanced down, his expression filled with guilt and sorrow. "So Peter then," she said, coming to the obvious conclusion. "And because Voldemort's curse on him had taken root by then, he betrayed us. How did it happen? How did we die?"

Harry cringed. "Mum—"

"How?"

She watched carefully as he reached up, rubbing at the scar on his forehead. "Halloween. This year. He came in through the front door. You knew ahead of time, but not by more than a few seconds." His attention turned to James. "You told Mum to take me and run. She took me up the stairs to my, er, Harry's room. You said that you would hold Voldemort off in order for us to get away."

"Sounds like something you'd do," Sirius muttered, casting an angry look at James. "Did he at least get in a good curse or two?"

Harry sighed heavily, sticking his hands in his pockets. "He didn't have his wand."

"What?" James asked, looking up with wide eyes. "I didn't even—? I mean . . ." He trailed off, his breaths rapidly increasing as he stood from the bed to run his hands through his hair.

"Harry?" Lily whispered, waiting for her son to take his eyes off of James and return his attention to her. "Who else was here?"

"No one," Harry said, shaking his head. "The two of you, me, and Voldemort." When she looked at Peter, Harry added, "He wasn't here."

Trying to add it all up in her head, she finally asked, "Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware of how smart you are. But you're only, I mean you were just a baby. How do you remember this? If no one else was here to tell you what happened . . . And you weren't downstairs. So how do you know that James didn't have his wand? Did someone find the bodies and—"

"Stop," Sirius pleaded. "Can you not talk like . . .? Don't say that."

Draco and Hermione both looked at Harry with tense expressions.

Harry rubbed at his forehead. "You all know about Voldemort's Horcruxes."

Peter gasped as he looked up, eyes wide. Clearly, no one had gotten around to telling him.

"What I haven't told you," Harry continued, "is that until I was seventeen, I was one of them."

Having not sat back down since his panicky outburst, James rushed to Harry, gripping him by the shoulders and examining his forehead. Lily, too, stood and made her way quickly across the room to her son.

"I'm fine now," Harry said, looking flustered and embarrassed at being fawned over. "It's gone now. But, for a time, I shared a connection with him. I could feel what he felt, see what he saw, and . . . I could see his memories. They were inside my head. I remember everything," he said gravely. "I remember the sounds coming from downstairs, and I remember what you looked like, Mum, when . . ."

She pulled him into her embrace, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Keep going."

"He gave you a choice. He would have spared you if you let me die."

She pulled back, looking into Harry's eyes. "I never would—"

"And you didn't," he said softly, sadly, looking grief-stricken still, even though she stood right in front of him, alive and—mostly—well. "You screamed, begged for my life, and then he murdered you. And then you were gone." Harry's voice cracked on that, and Lily cupped his face in her hands.

"I'm here," she said quietly.

"Whatever you did," Hermione said, "it put some sort of magic on Harry. Sacrificial magic. Because you gave your life for his, when Voldemort tried to kill him, the spell backfired. He died instead. But," she said, letting out a heavy sigh, "since he'd made Horcruxes, he wasn't really dead."

"And whatever happened when the Killing Curse struck back at him," Draco chimed in, "made a piece of him go inside Harry. Which really explains why he was such an intolerable twat for so many years."

"Jesus Christ," Harry muttered, letting out an exasperated laugh as he pressed his forehead against Lily's shoulder.

"But the Horcrux is gone now?" Remus asked, stepping forward. He shared a brief look with Peter and then very hesitantly approached the bed, taking up the seat that James had left empty.

Harry nodded. "It was destroyed a few years back during a battle."

Letting out a heavy sigh, James sat down at the end of the bed. Peter tugged his knees up to his chest, allowing James more room to collapse a bit. "So we can't use a Fidelius. And we have to destroy Horcruxes. And we can't trust Dumbledore."

"We can't?" Peter asked, looking confused. "I mean, I thought that you all—"

"Things've changed, Wormtail," Sirius muttered, briefly making eye contact with Peter. "If not Dumbledore, then who can we trust? Who's actually on our side that will help keep James, Lily, and Harry safe?"

"I don't need you to—" James began, but Sirius glared at him. "Fine. Whatever. Keep us all safe, but it doesn't end with us, Pads. And we can't stay in this goddamned cottage forever. From what we know, this war can potentially go on for years, and I'm not raising my son locked up here like . . ."

Lily put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Not again," she said, agreeing with James. "We need out. All of us."

Hermione paced around the room, letting out an occasional huff under her breath, though it never appeared to be connected with anything anyone else was saying or doing. She actually looked a bit lost in her own mind for a while. "Horcruxes can be tracked down. The last time, Voldemort didn't have any idea that we'd been destroying them, not until we'd made several mistakes." She looked up at Draco. "Can you get the diary out of Malfoy Manor without letting your parents catch on?"

Peter's mouth fell open. "Bloody hell," he whispered. "I thought he looked a lot like—"

"Keep up, Pete," Remus muttered, looking frustrated from lack of sleep. "But try to do so quietly."

"I can get it," Draco confirmed.

"Not alone," Harry said.

"Fuck off."

"I'm not goddamned joking, Draco! We won't split up again."

Lily watched her son turn on his boyfriend with a look of rage in his green eyes that felt more than looked familiar to her. She knew those eyes. She'd seen them just this morning looked right back at her from behind her mirror. Since he'd come to them, Harry had felt like her son. He looked like a man who'd been through war, but she still saw him in the sweet little face of her baby just in the other room. But she was finally able to see the parts that made him who he was. He had her temper and James's self-sacrificing nature. He had a reckless bit of him that was too much Sirius, and there was even some of Remus there, hidden in the shadows beneath his eyes, looking as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders and he just didn't feel that he measured up to expectations.

"We're all in this," Lily said. "We'll figure out the Horcruxes. But right now, we need to know who our allies are. Dumbledore cannot be trusted, which means many people in the Order can't either. What about outside? Anyone at the Ministry or in Hogwarts?"

"McGonagall," Harry said immediately. "As for the Ministry, I wouldn't have a clue where to begin."

Lily looked up, catching Sirius's gaze. "What do you think?"

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Pandora might have some ideas about how to keep everyone safe. At the very least, I'll bet she can come up with a way to integrate these three into our timeline without everyone wondering who the hell they are."

"It would help to have someone on the inside," Harry said quietly. "In the previous timeline, we had an ally inside the Death Eaters."

"No," Hermione and Draco said at the same time.

Throwing his hands up, Harry walked to the other side of the room, sitting down in the chair that Lily had abandoned. "We've changed too much already. And with—" He casually gestured to Peter on the bed "—We have no idea when Voldemort will strike now. As much as I wanted to prevent Halloween from happening this year, it was at least a timeline we could follow. But there's no way that we can send Pettigrew back to Voldemort."

At the mere suggestion, Peter looked like he was ready to be sick again. "I don't expect you to trust me—"

"It's not about trust," Harry replied.

"It's quite a lot about that," Sirius countered. When James looked at him with narrowed eyes, Sirius lifted his hands in supplication. "I know it was a curse and there was nothing to be done about that. But there's no way of telling if anything's changed. Not yet. Pete, you're one of my best friends, but we have children to think of right now."

Peter nodded solemnly. "No, it's fine. I understand. I don't want anyone hurt or killed because of me. I'm a . . . I'm a liability. No, James, it's true," he said when James spun around to argue. "You're too good-hearted to see it. But Sirius is right. I can't be trusted. I don't even know what all I've done since this happened to me."

"Maybe," Hermione began, biting her lower lip. "I'm not saying it's the best idea, but maybe we should keep him . . . locked up, for the time being."

"I agree," Peter said.

"No," James refused.

"Then an Unbreakable Vow."

"Peter! That type of magic is . . ." James stood, gesturing with his hands wildly as he spoke. "We have no idea what it could do to you."

Sitting up straight, Peter moved his legs over the side of the bed, nudging Remus to stand. "It doesn't matter. You need to know that I can't betray you. You can't worry about destroying Death Eaters and V-Voldemort while also wondering what I might do. Besides, an Unbreakable Vow can't be broken by other means. So they can't use Legilimency on me. And the Imperius Curse wouldn't work either, right?"

Lily opened her mouth to reply but then noticed that Peter was looking at Hermione.

"He's right," Hermione said.

Standing up, Peter awkwardly rubbed at his arms as though he were cold. He let out a soft, uncomfortable laugh. "Besides, even if I wasn't scared of breaking the Vow and dying, I've been pretty much assured that it's in my best interest to be good." He kept his gaze on Hermione, even as her eyes briefly narrowed. "Don't want to end up on fire, fed to centaurs, or stuck in a jar."

"What?" Remus asked, confused.

"You told him about Rita Skeeter?" Harry asked Hermione.

Lily blinked. "The Daily Prophet reporter?"

"Hermione put her in a jar once," Draco casually mentioned. "It was hardly the worst thing she's ever done. Did you tell him about the witch whose face you permanently cursed with boils?"

Folding her arms and looking slightly attacked, Hermione exhaled sharply. "I hardly think any of that matters now. Anyone I _may have_ cursed or hexed in my past is clearly perfectly healthy in this timeline, you realise."

"Who did you feed to centaurs?" Sirius asked with a grin. "And aren't centaurs vegetarians?"

"They didn't _eat_ her," Hermione said defensively. "They just . . . dragged her off into the forest is all. It was nothing."

Harry let out an amused snort. "Nothing."

"We're getting off topic!' Hermione snapped loudly, a threatening growl in the back of her throat. Remus was immediately at her side, settling a hand on her shoulder. She took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "But that does remind me that some people do need to be handled before they're given the ability to cause harm to others."

"I'm on board if we're taking Umbridge down," Harry said. "But I agree; it's off topic. She can wait."

Peter stuck his hand out. "Let's get on with it."

Everyone stared at the Dark Mark on his skin.

James, Remus, and Sirius all hesitated to step forward.

Sighing impatiently, Lily moved in front of him, grabbing his left hand with her own. "I'll do it. Who can cast the spell?"

Most eyes turned toward Hermione, but it was Draco who approached, holding his hand out to Harry, who placed the Elder Wand in the centre of his palm.

The moment that the wand touched their joined hands, Lily spoke. "Will you, Peter Pettigrew keep all the secrets of everyone in this room and those who are our allies for the benefit of their safety and the ultimate destruction of Voldemort and his Death Eaters?"

"I will," Peter said.

A thin rope of magical fire emerged from the wand, wrapping tightly around their hands.

"Will you, to the best of your ability, protect our children?"

"I will."

Lily took a breath. "And will you swear on your life through this Vow which will strike you dead should you break it, that you will never, in word or deed, betray anyone in this room in a way that could cause serious harm or otherwise benefit Voldemort and his supporters in any way?"

He did not look hesitant, even though he did pause before answering. Peter's eyes stared down at the flames of magic wrapped around their hands, one edge of the magic curling against the bottom of his Dark Mark. He brought his attention up, looking at Lily and then to his friends, one by one.

Sirius looked resolved with the situation, even as Remus shifted on his feet a little, nervously chewing on his thumbnail. When Peter glanced at James, he sighed, shaking his head.

"Don't wait for my permission," James said softly. "You're your own man, Pete."

"I will," Peter said.

The magic burned and glowed blindingly bright before eventually vanishing.

Lily withdrew her hand and sat back down on the arm of the chair that Harry now occupied.

"Now what?" James asked.

Harry leant forward, putting his elbows on his knees, looking contemplative. "Now we find people we can trust. Build up our own . . ."

"Order?" Sirius cheekily suggested.

"Army," Hermione said with a little grin in Harry's direction.

Chuckling under his breath, Harry nodded. "Think we might need a different name for it this time around."


End file.
